


Genius

by ifonlytreescoulddance



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Argentina, Club Athletico San Juan, Drinking, F/M, Family Issues, Fluff, Growing Up, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, Loneliness, Oikawa meets Y/n in Argentina, POV Third Person Limited, Post-Time Skip, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, Some Humor, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Swearing, okay so I lied there's A Lot of humor, struggling with the future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 22,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25771552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifonlytreescoulddance/pseuds/ifonlytreescoulddance
Summary: Oikawa struggles as he faces the loss of childhood and the constant fight to get above the ordinary. Ever since coming to Argentina, everything keeps getting harder, the days longer, the nights lonelier. Despite his achievements, he is not a genius.Y/n on the other hand lacks his goal-oriented pacing through life. To be honest, she doesn’t know what she intends to do in the future. Hesitation binds her to the familiar.It all starts with a chance encounter (and a little bit of Japanese).---"What do you think a sunset looks like from space?”
Relationships: Oikawa Tooru/Reader
Comments: 166
Kudos: 246





	1. Prologue: Failure Sets the Stage

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, this is just a short introduction to illustrate Oikawa’s state of mind before he’s off to Argentina. Y/n makes her first appearance in the next chapter, pinky promise
> 
> Also a warning: I’m not a native speaker. Please tell me if you notice stupid mistakes (which you're going to find, and I'm sorry for that).

Oikawa Tooru wasn’t stupid. In fact, he liked to think of himself as pretty darn clever. Thanks to his strategies – and the team’s skills for what it’s worth –, Aoba Johsai managed to shatter more than one opponent’s spirit. When he served, he saw the awe at his precision and force. He knew he trained hard enough to deserve this recognition of his abilities.

So why did he find himself in this situation? Why had he given blood and tears and bruises, just to be beaten by a bratty first year who happened to be lucky in life? It wasn’t fair. Karasuno didn’t have any right to win this match. This little shit Kageyama Tobio didn’t have any right to snatch nationals away from him, not after _he_ worked harder than anyone else to stand on the centre court in Tokyo.

When the ball dropped one last time, on the wrong side of the net, Oikawa’s heart dropped too. His outstretched hands hadn’t been fast enough. It had never been enough. That day, he cried, bitter tears of disappointment that had the distinct taste of a goodbye. The dream was over. Seijoh didn’t make it.

He kept the photograph the team took on the last day of school, put it in his wallet, snugly cozied up to the old picture of him and Iwaizumi back from before they worried about things like rivalries or college or careers. Now, an unsure future loomed over them.

The Grand King of the Court who never left Miyagi in his school days found himself suffocating as the borders of his realm closed in on him. He wasn’t the only one who longed to escape.

“We’ll still be friends, of course," he assured Iwaizumi when he told him about his plans of going abroad. They sat on the bench in front of his house, where they’d sat countless times before to confide without interruption from outsiders. “I’ll send you pictures of the cute girls in Argentina.”

“Don’t be stupid, Shittykawa.” The slap to the back of his head felt nearly nostalgic.

They fell quiet after that, a soft breeze cooling their faces. The cherry tree on the other side of the road whispered foreign words of solace, of memories and future dreams. A child's rusty bike lay forgotten beneath its branches.

“I’ve also thought about it.” Iwaizumi looked down on his calloused hands, as if the answers to their questions were written there in smudged ink, like dates for a history exam they didn’t study for.

“Don’t strain your brain cells too much, Iwa-chan," Oikawa joked, but it came half-assed and he continued in a more serious tone. “About what?”

“Going abroad. Colleges in the US have a pretty good reputation.”

Oikawa hummed. He knew Iwaizumi would be successful with whatever he chose to do. He trusted his judgement.

When they eventually parted ways, they didn’t bother with too many words. They knew. A last hug, clutching to each other so much it almost hurt, then one step and another. Watching Iwaizumi disappear in the crowd at the airport felt an awful lot like the end of Oikawa’s childhood.

He wiped his eyes and carried on. There was a lot of work awaiting his attention.


	2. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never been to Argentina and sadly, I don't speak Spanish. Feel free to call me out on my bullshit

Oikawa imagined his first weeks in Argentina to go smoothly. He was confident he would find his footing on new soil with the same ease as when he played in a new gym. After all, he’d always been good with new places and people.

But once again, he faced the irritating truth that life loved to find a way to kick you in the ass when you least expected it.

Back in Japan, he’d had friends and family, a reputation, a sense of what he could do to get what he wanted. Now he struggled to keep up the smile when his landlady used a string of words he never learned in a textbook, and he pretended to not notice the stares he got on the street, probably for being Asian. His teammates were kind enough though he didn’t understand their inside jokes. Even the sun seemed different here, more unrelenting.

Maybe he would have despaired if it weren’t for volleyball. All these things didn’t matter on the court. He learned about the other players’ peculiarities, their ticks and weaknesses and strengths and preferences. When he hit the ball in a perfect serve, the coach nodded in approval. When he set to the spikers, they scored. He found peace in this familiarity.

The new team practiced harder than he was used to, starting the day with a workout in the morning and ending it with a session on the court. He didn’t complain about his aching muscles. They were signs of change, and he had to change for the better if he wanted to survive in the harsh world of professionals.

During his hours of spare time, he took classes at the local university. His mum insisted he need the education for when his body wouldn’t keep up with the strains of pro sports, and since her son had a good head on his shoulders, he could juggle both.

Keeping busy made him forget the screaming of his mind.

Still, sometimes the weight on his chest became too much. Only at the end of the day, after he shut the door of his tiny flat, did he allow this darkness to raise its ugly head above the surface. A sense of loneliness took him over in these moments, when the thin walls let him in on his neighbours’ bickering and their music and their laughter.

In a way, he missed his old life. The gym at Seijoh. The sweet smell of milk bread at home. Iwaizumi waiting for him to walk to school together. He missed his best friend’s shoulder punches and he missed his mum’s perfume and he missed his nephew being a cheeky little pest.

They called now and then, texted, sent photos and memes, but it wasn’t easy with different time zones and colliding schedules. Plus, it never felt the same as meeting them in person. Often enough, Oikawa thought himself even more miserable afterwards.

* * *

He met Y/n a month after his arrival in Argentina. She sat behind the counter of the small grocery store around the corner, the one which was best for getting fresh vegetables. When he put his items on the countertop, her eyes were glued to her phone screen.

Hungry after another day of training and sweaty from the additional heat on the streets, Oikawa harrumphed, in the politest way possible. At least he hoped it sounded like that.

The girl winced, yanking her phone out of her hand so violently that it crashed down the counter and landed at Oikawa’s feet. “Oh shi- _sorry_!”

She moved to get up, but he just smiled reassuringly and reached down. A glance at the display – and he froze. “Attack on Titan? You speak Japanese?”

Y/n laughed nervously. “I- eh- no, not really. The translation isn’t out yet but I _need_ to know – you know?” She snatched the device out of his hands. “Sorry again… This is your stuff, right?”

While she hurried to work on the register, he contemplated her. The confrontation with his mother tongue had come unexpected but maybe this was some sort of sign. At the very least, it put him out of the dullness of his daily routine.

“I could translate the chapter for you," he heard himself offering, “if you want.”

Considering her facial expression, he seriously worried if she would drop his salad too, but she just set it aside and stared at him. “Really?”

He nodded and gave her one of the grins that made girls back at home screech, or at the very least get slightly out of breath. This time, there was nothing fake about it. Damn, he was so hungry for a change it almost hurt. As if he was starved for something he couldn’t name.

Another customer approached the counter, an old, crinkly woman who eyed him as if he were the one wearing neon green glitter sandals. At the sight of her, Y/n cringed and returned to her task.

Oikawa paid up and stepped aside. Giving his best impression of mild interest, he examined a hand-written offer for tutoring that was pinned to a shabby cork board. The telephone number at the bottom had been written down with obvious care, matching the neat letters above. Probably a university student in need of cash.

“Thank you, Doña Julieta," he heard Y/n say over the old woman’s agitated whispering. “No, I think I can handle it.” Another heap of words uttered too fast and too quietly for Oikawa to comprehend. “Yes, I’ll let mamá know. Have a nice evening!”

Oikawa waited until the woman stepped outside before he turned back to the cashier. “Did she think I’m trying to kidnap you or something?”

Y/n snorted. “Possibly. She knows my parents – well, the whole neighbourhood, really. Newcomers are something of a rarity in this part of the city.”

The corners of his lips lifted. It was true that they were a little farther from the centre than he’d originally thought, but the rent was as low as it got with a decent flat and the team’s gym wasn’t too far away. At his usual jogging speed, it didn’t take him more than twenty minutes.

Y/n looked as if she wasn’t sure what to say next. She looked like the kind of girl who thought a great deal too much before she did anything. Finally the words wormed their way out of her mouth, “Are you still up to a little translation? I’ll give you a discount next time, promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d be incredibly grateful for any sort of feedback, pls this girl needs to know she's not just screaming into the void


	3. To Live and to Learn, to Grow and to Wither

When Oikawa went grocery shopping again, a stout woman in her fifties sat behind the counter. While she was occupied with his shopping, he craned his neck towards the shelves, as if anyone were to duck behind them, waiting to be found in a game of hide-and-seek.

“You alright?” The woman raised her eyebrows.

Even through the heavy accent, Oikawa detected the kind of wariness one had in the face of drunks, maniacs, and people who knocked on your door to cheerfully explain you’d burn in hell if you didn’t listen to the words of their lord and saviour.

Maybe he hadn’t been as subtle as he thought.

“Splendid.” He flashed one of his signature smiles. “How much is it?”

The young cashier was nowhere in sight.

Disappointment flooded his lungs, but he let it down the drain like dirty bathwater. After all, he didn’t even know her name.

Last time he’d translated, nothing more. The struggle to find the right words had been bigger than expected, though her exited little hopping had distracted him quite a bit. By the time they’d gotten past the climax of the chapter, a man whom Oikawa assumed to be the manager had appeared and lectured her for slacking off.

Oikawa had scrambled quietly. He’d had the distinct feeling that Mad Manager wouldn’t be appeased by his smiles. Furious Argentineans were a frightening sight.

At least she’d heard enough to stop worrying about her favourite character. (By that note, could anyone explain what was so attractive about a tiny bastard who slaughtered living beings, even if said beings were titans? It must have been the leather straps. Definitely the leather straps.)

It took a few days until their schedules matched up again. She was busy rearranging the displays, back to him. Three different brands of sunscreen lined up on the shelf.

“Hi, manga girl,” he said and watched her wince.

She flew around, embarrassment and anger battling on her features. She settled on crossing her arms. “It’s Y/n.”

He repeated it, tasted the foreign sounds. “That’s a pretty name. I’m Oikawa Tooru.” The words streamed over his lips in an effortless, practiced melody. He had plenty of experience introducing himself to girls. Japanese, English, Spanish – it didn’t matter.

She went to work on the register without any indication that she'd heard him. If it weren’t for the little glance in his direction, he would’ve bought her act of lukewarm interest.

He put his groceries on the counter. Now came the part he’d rehearsed way too often. He could do this. Breathing. Breathing was key, as any actor might confirm. “Look, I had an idea. Why not do a language exchange?”

That got her attention. “What do you mean?”

“We had something similar back in high school whenever an exchange student visited. You help me with my Spanish, I teach you some Japanese. Though it’s fine if you prefer translations of your manga instead.”

Her hands kept at work, though her face told him she was contemplating the offer. “That’s 995 pesos. Including the discount for your help last time.”

Oikawa fumbled with his wallet. Was he too forward about this? Was he being creepy? He wasn’t, right? He almost heard Iwaizumi scolding him. _Shittykawa-_

“I guess it’s worth a try. I’ve always wanted to learn Japanese, or at least more than the ‘hai’, ‘sumimasen" and ‘baka’ I picked up from anime.”

Oikawa didn’t bother to suppress his chuckle.

So he hadn’t lost his charm after all. Maybe his good looks helped. Probably. Definitely. (No, he wasn’t conceited, it was called stating facts).

Y/n rummaged through a drawer. “We can sort out the details when I’m done here.” She emerged victorious, a piece of paper between her fingers. After scribbling something, she slid it over the counter. “Here.”

She’d drawn a crooked emoticon below her phone number, Japanese style. Kawaii.

“Y/n, where are the tomatoes? Did you move them?” a voice from the back of the store ended their sweet little moment. Oikawa crashed back on planet Earth. Or Argentina.

A middle-aged man poked his head over a shelf. Mad Manager, again. Truly a master of bad timing.

“Coming!”

Y/n gave Oikawa a wave, her lips twitching into a smile, her gaze lingering on his face for another second. Then she hastened towards the back of the store. He didn’t understand much in the onslaught of Spanish that followed but apparently, the tomatoes were exactly where they were supposed to be.

He nearly forgot his groceries on the way out. The piece of paper felt warm between his fingers.

* * *

However you looked at it, the Internet was truly a source of wonder. It was a place where people could do what they always wanted to but never dared to do in public.

Oikawa found himself scrunching his eyebrows at the comments under Kageyama’s latest tweet. It wasn’t much more than the newest cover of Volleyball Weekly, not much more than a picture of the setter’s face when the ball reached his fingertips. He hadn't even bothered with a proper haircut.

Never minding that, some of the comments nearly made Oikawa choke. (Some of the users apparently wanted to choke.)

He decided it was better to keep scrolling as if he never laid eyes on the thirst.

The sun set, spilling the last rays of light through Oikawa’s window. The smell of dinner still hung in the air, a mix of spices from home and here. He lay outstretched over the entire length of his couch, had spent the better part of an hour doing so, while he tried to distract himself from the fact that Y/n hadn't answered his text yet.

Maybe he wouldn’t have been this nervous if he’d gone out a little more over the last few weeks, but the chances of a hangover were simply too high. Coach Blanco wouldn’t be happy about that. Plus, he didn’t know anyone apart from his teammates, the landlady and the neighbours with whom he’d exchanged but a few greetings.

Oikawa told himself he was being sensible. Mature. All of this had nothing to do with the fact that his head hurt at the thought of trying to make friends.

That wasn’t how things worked. He didn’t go looking for people. People gravitated towards him.

The phone vibrated. His fingers slipped when he tried to adjust his grasp and sharp pain shot through the bridge of his nose as it crashed between his eyes.

“Oh fuck this shit.” Without bothering to look who called, he answered, “Yeah?”

“Eh – hello?” The voice on the other side of the line nearly made him drop the phone again.

“Manga girl!” He sounded way too excited, didn’t he?

“I told you to stop calling me that. It’s Y/n.”

“Y/n-chan, then. The manga cashier.”

An exaggerated sigh. “You won’t let me live that one down, will you? For your information, I’m usually a very conscientious employee. That was a one-time thing.”

He laughed and turned to the side, facing the window. By now, the sun had disappeared completely, leaving the room in a cosy kind of darkness. He could almost pretend he was at his mum's house. “Right.”

“So… did you mean what you said earlier? Japanese for Spanish lessons?”

“Sure. I’d appreciate some help, and I’m told I’m a fantastic teacher.” Back then it had been children’s volleyball but to teach was to teach, right? If Takeru could learn how to set properly, Y/n would be able to learn Japanese. He had a feeling she’d do well.

“In that case – are you free on Sunday?”

Quickly considering his schedule, he nodded. Then he remembered she couldn’t see that. “Yeah, sure.” The urge to slap himself got greater with every minute of this godforsaken day. “I’ll need to go for a run in the morning but if you don’t mind meeting later-“

“I don’t.”

“Great.” He tried to dial down the excitement in his voice. “Do you want to pick a place?”

“I’ll think of something.”

* * *

Oikawa had countless marvellous, unmatched strengths in a broad range of fields. Patience, however, wasn't one of them.

His thoughts drifted off on his runs and on the bus, during lectures, and whenever he passed the store around the corner. The days until Sunday stretched to infinity and back, slid between the folds of time, always teasing, always mocking. Only on the court did he forget.

He knew he acted like a teenager with his first crush. But it wasn’t a crush. Not really. He was just excited about making a friend.

When he talked to Iwaizumi about it, his most trusted confidant politely told him to “calm the fuck down”.

“What if she thinks I’m a weirdo?”

“You are a weirdo, Shittykawa.”

“And you’re a meanie, Iwa-chan.” Strange as it was, the usual banter helped to put his mind at ease. The realisation that Iwaizumi had a life, too, dawned on him, not without a splash of guilt. “How are things on your end of the world?”

“Oh, you know, I’m good. Went to a party on the weekend. Can you believe these guys don’t take their shoes off when they enter the house?”

Oikawa grimaced. “What? That’s disgusting. Don’t their floors get all dirty?”

Iwaizumi sighed. “I’m still working on teaching my roomie the basics of a clean lifestyle. He thinks using Axe works as well as a bath.”

That brought back memories. Changing rooms full of sweating teenage boys were an experience Oikawa’s nose would never forget. “Sounds like Mad Dog-chan and that guy would get along swimmingly.”

“Probably. Though Pete doesn’t try to compete as much. One arm wrestling competition was enough to shut him up.” A booming noise set off in the background. Was that supposed to be music? “Oh, there he is.”

Raised voices, words drowned out by the heavy beat. Oikawa didn’t even attempt to make sense of the sentence snippets. He’d never been as good as Iwaizumi when it came to English. Since he started his Spanish lessons, his concentration was focused elsewhere. Absent-mindedly, he stroked over the soft fabric of his couch, second-hand, ocean blue comfort.

“Sorry, I’ve got to go now,” Iwaizumi’s voice returned. He was a little out of breath, as if he were sprinting up a flight of stairs. Or chasing his roommate. “Have fun on your study date. Don’t mess it up!” Rustling – and the connection was gone.

Oikawa stayed on the sofa for some time after that, tried to picture his best friend arguing with some American who couldn’t be bothered to take off his sneakers. He thought about all the times they had chased each other in the corridors of their middle school. How their teachers scolded them. How it stopped once they got older.

Growing up sucked.

The dirty spot on the ceiling stared at him in pity. Oikawa willed the tears away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for another round of depressed Oikawa. I swear I intend for this fic to get lighter but first we need some good ol angst *cackles*
> 
> Feedback is very much appreciated, as always. Even if it's only pointing out terrible grammar.
> 
> Also, 10 points to everyone who got the AoT reference (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧


	4. Tearing Down the Barrier

This was a good one.

In the fraction of a second in which the feeling of the ball on his fingertips turned into a past condition, Oikawa knew they would score. Perfect timing, perfect place, perfect height. For a moment, the image of the spiker hung in the air, beautiful in its force, then a bang and the sound of a whistle.

“Yeah!” Oikawa and Federico fist bumped. Both of them had sweat streaming down their temples but neither seemed bothered in the least.

Coach Blanco raised his voice, “Good, that’s it for today! Don’t forget to stretch, boys!”

A part of him wanted to protest. How could they stop now, when their teamwork peaked and they were at a draw? Another part of him sighed in relief. The clock over the doors of the gym indicated they’d already run overtime and his knee started to act up a little. An ice pack was waiting for him in the freezer.

As he fell into the routine of stretches, casual conversation spread.

“Manuel, how’s your wife doing?”

A deep laugh. “Great. She’s really enjoying the whole situation. Today was pasta day.”

“And?”

“She ordered me around as if I’d never heard of spaghetti before.”

Oikawa couldn’t suppress a chuckle. He imagined his teammate, muscular, broad shouldered, around two metres tall, followed by the charming woman he’d met last week after a practice game. She barely reached to his shoulders and had her arm in a sling since she broke it falling down the stairs. She was also the most intimidating person Oikawa had ever met. A hurricane raging in a tiny vessel.

“Give it two more weeks," another voice joined in, “and she’ll have convinced him to renovate the whole kitchen.”

“Oh, don’t you dare give her ideas!”

The center of conversation shifted, and Oikawa allowed himself to retreat. The domestic squabbles of his teammates were a popular topic, the best way to build a connection between them, to gain their trust. They also reminded Oikawa of the emptiness that would greet him back in his flat.

When his family hadn’t turned up to witness his first match at UPCN, he hadn't batted an eye. The flight was too expensive. It wasn’t worth the time, just a practice match after all. Everyone had a job and responsibilities. He’d known his mum wouldn’t be there to see him rise as a star in pro volleyball, Takeru wouldn't be there to get autographs for his friends, Iwaizumi wouldn't be there to spike his tosses.

Building a new life required dancing on the ruins of your old one.

* * *

“So you’re saying I’ve been telling everyone – since day one – that I’m horny instead of hot?” Oikawa saw the last few weeks flash before his eyes, every conversation with his teammates, and neighbours, and oh, that was why the landlady shielded her granddaughter from him. Dammit.

Y/n bit her lip. She sat in the corner seat of their tiny table, notebooks and pens scattered between them, a cup of coffee on her side, tea on his. One more glance at his face and she snorted with laughter.

He sighed dramatically. “You’re being pretty rude, you know?”

She took a sip from her coffee. The heavy aroma tickled his nose, rich and warm, had enveloped his senses since the first step into the café. Upon setting her cup back down on the saucer, she countered, “Well, you’re pretty funny, you know?”

Oikawa embraced the grin that wormed its way onto his face.

Contrary to his fears, things with Y/n hadn’t been weird at all. Sure, there was some timidity at the beginning but after an hour of finding errors in Oikawa’s speech, both of them had been too preoccupied to overthink.

“By this time next year, I’ll have mastered the art of small talk in Spanish," he announced with a flourish. “Until then, I’ll suffer from my own mistakes most gracefully.”

“Sure, if you say so. Now, let’s talk about the way you pronounced that last word, shall we?”

She was a good teacher. He’d been surprised to find how thoroughly she’d prepared, though she was subtle in applying her techniques. There was an almost artistic value to the way she smoothly switched to corrections of his mistakes while keeping the natural flow of conversation going.

Best of all, she didn’t treat him in a condescending manner. They had a normal talk, with the benefit of learning more about proper use of the language.

The location helped, too.

Everything in the little café’s interior had a feeling of lived-in-ness to it. Slightly dusty floors, photographs on the walls, soft pillows on wooden chairs. Apart from theirs, only six other tables were squeezed into the tiny space, taken by pairs and small groups who conversed in lively Spanish. Most of them gestured so much that Oikawa wondered if anyone ever hit the waiter by accident.

He treasured each and every word he caught by chance and managed to understand. They were shining victories in a pit of incomprehension.

“Ah, I get it. Theoretically.” After another quarter-hour of Spanish, Oikawa copied down Y/n’s explanation, then leaned back in his seat. He cocked his head. “Now, are you still interested in Japanese? I think you’ve sacrificed enough of your time.”

“Sure," Y/n agreed, “but you’ll have to start with the absolute basics. Let me get a refill first.” She signalled for the waiter.

The young man wriggled between the crowded tables, coffeepot and milk balanced on a silver tray. For a second, Oikawa wondered if he was of such slim build to fit through the narrow aisles or if the aisles were so narrow because the owner knew his staff would fit through.

He poured first milk, then coffee in Y/n’s cup. “Do you need anything else?” He put a hand on her shoulder with the ease of someone who treated a close friend. Or a regular customer? Oikawa still struggled to decode the social norms around here.

“Thanks, but we’re good, Digo. My new acquaintance feels a little too hot for another drink," Y/n said with a look that couldn’t be classified as anything but devilish.

As soon as the waiter had left – not without a confused look between the two guests –, Oikawa smiled sweetly at her. “You know you’re going to pay for that. I don’t even have to make a change of plan.” He took her notebook and started to write clear rows of characters. “Welcome to the world of hiragana.”

Y/n sighed. “Why does this feel like the beginning of a lot of brain racking?”

There was a quiet gleam in her eyes suggesting that maybe, some suffering was worth the result.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When it says slow burn in the tags, I mean Slow Burn. This story's gonna take ages to advance at this pace, sorry (／。＼)
> 
> If you're still taking the time to read, comment or leave kudos, thank you so much! I know this fic isn't much in terms of popularity but I'm still stupidly happy about any reaction from you lol


	5. Reckless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick info: I might start linking music and articles that inspired me while writing each chapter? Idk if anyone’s interested in that stuff but I guess there’s no hurt in sharing ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> For this one, I recommend listening to [Lágrima (Teardrop)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=riGGYPtzc88) which is a short piece for solo guitar. The composer isn’t Argentinean (Spanish instead) but I really enjoy the calm atmosphere

“So, what do you do?” Oikawa asked and rested his chin on his palm. “I mean apart from working at the grocery store.”

It took Y/n a few seconds to answer. She stared into her coffee cup as if consulting her reflection on the matter.

They had once again decided to meet at the little café not far from Oikawa’s flat. As he’d learned, Y/n shared the first floor over the store with her cousin, so this location had proven perfect for both of them. Plus, the prices suited a tight budget. 

“I guess I’m in a kind of… gap year," Y/n admitted finally. She flipped through her notebook. “The store’s just a part-time job to keep me busy, and my aunt and uncle needed help anyway. I tutor some younger students, too.”

Now that she mentioned it, her handwriting did remind him of the offer pinned to the store’s cork board. He _knew_ there was something familiar about her letters. “Why don’t you go to university?”

A shadow passed over her face. It only lasted a second and might as well have been an illusion – he couldn’t be sure, not really. Even if his stomach told him there was more to the topic than she let on.

“I’m not sure that’s the right path for me," she mumbled. “My family isn’t big in academics.”

Oikawa scrunched his brows. What had her family to do with all this? She was clearly bright enough, quick to pick up a new language, skilled in adjusting to a non-native speaker, a wonderful teacher. And as far as he knew, courses were tuition-free, so finances shouldn’t provide much of an obstacle.

“What about you?” she changed the topic, crossed her arms and leaned back in the chair. “Last time you mentioned you were into sports. Did you come here to play football?”

Under different circumstances, Oikawa wouldn’t have let himself be shaken off like this. Then again, they weren't more than casual acquaintances as of now - how could he impose on her with uncomfortable questions? He barely knew anything about her and her situation.

“Volleyball,” he corrected. “My mentor moved back here, so I followed him. Surely you’ve heard of José Blanco?”

Y/n shook her head.

It didn’t take more for him to launch into a passionate description of Blanco’s achievements as a setter, of the way he'd inspired him and kept him going, of that fortunate day they had met more than a decade ago. To his astonishment, Y/n actually listened. He’d gotten so used to people brushing aside his speeches that he nearly lost the thread.

“So you took off to another country, a different continent, to live your dream?” He couldn’t decide which was more prevalent in her voice, awe or baffled bewilderment. “You’re crazier than I thought.”

Completely sane people rarely achieved anything worthwhile. “It turned out alright, didn’t it? Next week, I’m going to get the chance to play at an official match for the first time.” His gaze travelled to the ceiling as he casually added, “You could come and watch us win if you want to.”

His heart beat a little faster while he waited for her reaction. _Don't get too excited. Don't get disappointed._

A laugh escaped her. “I’ll think about it, sportsman. Maybe I’ll get to see you lose that cocky attitude of yours.”

Oikawa forgot to look offended at the prospect of her actually attending the game. She’d be the only spectator who knew him. He leaned forward. “Let’s bet. If my team wins, you’ll pay my drinks for the next few study sessions.”

Mischief danced in the crinkles around her eyes. “And if you lose?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Whatever suits you. It doesn’t matter since we won’t lose.”

“Fine,” she agreed, “an undecided favour then. I’ll come up with something once the need arises.” She grinned and for a moment, a mixture of cold fear and hot excitement shot through Oikawa at the thought of being at her mercy. He wondered what kind of favour she’d chose.

But no, UPCN wouldn’t lose. The team had been doing amazing over the last few weeks. How silly of him to even consider it.

* * *

Well, shit.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Oikawa glanced at the display of the point count over the spectators’ heads. Fifth set. 19:23. He could almost feel Y/n’s eyes on his figure, though locating her in the mass of onlookers proved impossible.

“Keep calm!” Coach Blanco advised over the supporters’ shouts. Oikawa and his colleagues huddled around him like very tall, sweaty chickens, not out of fear but to make out the words amidst all this noise. The time-out wouldn’t make much of a difference if they couldn’t use it to turn the game around. “By now, we know how they operate. Don’t let the blockers scare you and beware of number 8. Use your surroundings, use your brains.”

Next to him, Manuel nodded severely. Exhaustion bent his shoulders under the blue jersey. Unlike Oikawa, who’d been switched in and out with the other setter from time to time, he didn’t have a solid substitute on his skill level. Someone passed a water bottle to him.

“We can do it if we concentrate on your next moves. Our fans are counting on us!” the captain said and put his arms around the teammates nearest to him. Oikawa was struck with the realisation how lucky he was to end up a member of UPCN.

The referee’s whistle brought an end to their consultation.

He took a deep breath. The words Blanco had said to him earlier in the day came to mind, a grounding assessment of nothing more than the bare truth, though a truth easily forgotten amidst squeaking shoes and aching muscles. “They’re just as human as we are.” Putting it out there lifted some of the pressure.

“Damn right." Federico clapped him on the shoulder. "Let’s show them what we've got.”

In the end, it didn’t really matter that they lost. After all, it was their very first official match this season, so there would be plenty more chances to make it to the top. They’d fought most bravely, putting pressure on their opponents, catching up point after point. Nobody could claim they hadn’t done their best.

Sure, some of Oikawa's mistakes might have been avoidable, like that one set from the back or the clumsy block in the first half. On the other hand, he'd also squeezed in several points with his serves and the spikers had done well under his subtle guidance, earning polite applause even from their opponents' supporters. There was plenty to be proud of.

Next time, the Condors - as their fans liked to call them - would do better.

There was something like sympathy in Y/n’s eyes when she met him outside, a few steps away from the stream of people who exited the building, celebrating, sulking, joking around. A friend waited next to her, pretty cute, but he didn’t put much effort in their introduction. At this point, he was too tired for almost everything besides dinner.

"So, what do you think?" he allowed his curiosity to take over at last. Y/n had mentioned she didn't watch much of volleyball since everyone in her circle preferred football. (Oikawa found himself silently determined to change that.)

“Don’t worry, you didn’t make a fool of yourself,” she assured and winked. There it was again, that mischief. “Just remember the favour you owe me.”


	6. Of Roots, Shoes and the Pavement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song rec [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RwjwIQqwZcQ), from a teeny tiny youtuber I stumbled upon by chance

As Y/n and Oikawa’s lessons continued, he got used to Spanish like you get used to a new pair of shoes.

If Japanese was the leather shoes accompanying his school uniform (openly regulatory, comfortable with wear), Spanish resembled casual sandals – only for some reason the colours didn’t match his outfit and the size felt off and his toes got sunburnt all the time.

Or maybe languages were like jeans. Sometimes Y/n would explain why he couldn’t use a phrase like that, so he got a belt and could stop worrying about losing his trousers in the middle of the street.

Anyway, things finally started to make sense.

Oikawa began to appreciate the different kind of hustle and bustle, the loud voices and the different melody in people’s conversations. While he couldn’t understand half of the lyrics, he whistled to the music on the radio when he cooked, sometimes doing an impromptu dance in the privacy of his- well, _home_.

By now, the formerly dull walls had become more colourful. Beside the photographs from Japan, memories of the roots enabling him to grow, hung newspaper cuttings of the matches UPCN won with him as their setter. The official team portrait. A selfie with Federico and Manuel on a bar crawl.

Sure, he wasn’t always chosen to play in official games. The junior setter came second to his more experienced colleague. That was the way things worked. At least for everyone who took the rocky road to success, everyone who wasn’t born a genius. Still, he was getting there.

If only his mother had some confidence in her son, too.

“Yes, okaa-san,” he said, clutching the phone to avoid raising his voice. “I’m eating well. They do have a nutritionist here. And before you ask, yes, my knee’s good, too.”

Her response was collected as ever, though he still caught her veiled hurt. “Well, someone has to make sure you take care of yourself. It wouldn’t be the first time your stubbornness caused problems.” He heard her take a deep breath. “I worry about you. You’re so far away.”

Absent-mindedly, Oikawa pulled the bedroom curtains to the side and looked at the street below. The sun rose from the horizon, bathing a passing woman in a wheelchair in soft light. While the world was only awaking on this part of the globe, nightfall approached in Japan. Might the moon be out already? Was his mum staring up at the stars?

“I told you I’d visit during Golden Week.”

“That’s half a year from now. You can’t be serious.”

His eyes followed the wheelchair down the street. As it rounded the corner, he said, “You could come visit me, too. Argentina’s beautiful.”

“You know I can’t.”

They ended the call shortly after that, taping up the little scratches in their relationship with polite words and promises to chat again soon. Oikawa knew it wouldn’t happen. Iwaizumi and he had skyped more times than his mother had even attempted contact.

He didn’t resent her for it. She’d brought him and his sister up as a single mum, had worked overtime without complaint and made sure they never had any less than their classmates with the income of two parents.

Meanwhile, his father used to show up once a year, always in the summer months. For a week or two, he’d take them to his house at the coast where the air tasted like salt and they ate ice cream and searched for pretty stones at the seaside. His sister and he would dance in the waves, the ocean’s breaths mingled with their laughter. Until the visits stopped shortly after Oikawa’s tenth birthday.

Present day Oikawa shook his head to chase off the memories. No use reopening old wounds. He tossed his phone on his bed and stepped towards the wardrobe. Time to get ready for his run.

Today he’d definitely break his personal record.

* * *

On his way back home, he nearly killed Y/n. Accidentally, of course.

He was jogging around the corner of the grocery store when she suddenly stepped out onto the sidewalk, seemingly unaware of the world outside her head. Half a step away, Oikawa did what every other sensible man in his situation would have done. He screamed.

Y/n flew around in time to crash face-first into his chest. For a moment, it was as if everything was happening in slow motion. He shut his eyes, felt his weight and hers colliding, bearing witness to the real-life physics of inertia, and some primal part of his brain modified the motion to turn the two of them around in mid-air, his arms clasping her stiff figure as they clashed onto the pavement.

For a second or so, neither moved. Y/n’s body weighed him down, her hair in his face. The possibility that she might be dead crossed Oikawa’s mind but then, her lovely voice shattered the tension.

“What the fuck.”

He had the urge to laugh out loud – a mistake. His chest hurt.

She rolled down from him, a little unsteady but with obvious care. His eyes scanned her body. No apparent injuries.

“Are you hurt?” he asked and sat up with laborious effort.

She shook her head and offered a hand. “And you?”

With her help, he managed to get up. Though his ribs and back hurt from the impact, he didn’t think it was anything serious. “It should be okay. I’m used to a few bruises here and there, so these won’t stand out much.”

Only now did he notice the gawkers that had gathered around them. The manager and an old woman whose face he recognised but couldn’t quite place looked like they wanted to murder him.

Right, he should- “I’m sorry, Y/n. I didn’t see you.” He scratched his neck and smiled apologetically.

“Maybe you need glasses,” Mad Manager interjected and turned his gaze on Y/n. “And you! How often have I told you to keep your eyes open?”

“It was an accident,” she protested. “These things happen.”

He sighed heavily and crossed his arms. “Let Emilia have a look. Won’t do any good if you’ve got a concussion.” He added something Oikawa couldn’t quite understand, though the old woman’s cackling told him they weren’t complimenting his fluffy hair.

Sometimes, ignorance was bliss.

He followed Y/n without further ado, glad to escape the piercing looks. She led him round the building, up a narrow metal staircase on the back. One side was occupied by potted plants in all shapes and forms. Red flowers in full bloom added specks of colour. It smelled as if someone had been determined to fit a tiny garden in this dusty, barren place.

“Surely you remember Emilia from last time?” Y/n remarked as she unlocked the door on the very top of the stairs. “She came along to your game a few weeks ago.”

Oh. Oikawa had thought the name was familiar. “Of course, I do. The nurse, right?”

“We’re lucky it’s her day off.”

They really were.

Emilia handled the situation with good humour. Thankfully, she didn’t seem bothered by their intrusion, didn’t complain about them ruining her Saturday morning. She could only be a few years older than Y/n and him, but her behaviour resembled that of his sister who was well into her thirties.

Conscience-stricken that he hadn’t given her much attention when they first met, Oikawa did his best to act like a well-behaved patient. The fact that he still wore his sweaty running clothes didn’t make things better. When he commented on that, Emilia brushed off his worries.

“Don’t worry. This is nothing in comparison to a bedridden patient-,” she faltered. “You know what, let’s just say I’ve seen some things.”

Her smile reminded him of Y/n.

Said girl had made herself comfortable in an armchair from where she observed the check-up while she slurped cold juice. After the initial shock, she seemed amused by the whole affair. At least she’d passed her examination with a ‘You’ll be good as long as Mateo doesn’t murder you for disturbing the peace at the store again.’

Family was such a complicated thing with them. If Oikawa got everything right, Y/n and Emilia were cousins, the store belonged to Emilia’s parents and for some unexplained reason, she called the manager Mateo instead of papá. At this point, Oikawa wouldn’t have batted an eye at them declaring his landlady their grandma.

Emilia took her time to make sure he was okay, but in the end, she gave him a playful pat on the shoulder and left the sofa to him. “I can’t find signs of serious damage, though if you notice anything in the next few days, you should contact a doctor.”

“Thank you.” He doubted that would be necessary. He had the body of an athlete. Apart from the occasional knee problems, owing to the reckless training when his insecurities devoured reason, there was nothing to worry about.

To be honest, he’d only followed Y/n into the flat to see if she was hurt. He still felt the force of their crash, her muscles stiff under his grasp, her bare skin so terrifyingly fragile.

For the first time since they entered, he permitted himself to look around. Apart from Y/n’s armchair and the couch he currently occupied, the living room didn’t have much more than a stained coffee table, a wooden bookshelf and a TV. Over the bookshelf hung several hand-drawn paintings, of landscapes, people, horses. A kitchenette sat snugly in the corner.

“So,” he attempted small talk, “you live alone up here?”

Emilia laughed again. To his surprise, Y/n joined in. Was that such a stupid question? What had he done yet again?

In response to his confusion, Y/n had the mercy to explain they shared the flat. She gestured towards a door next to the kitchenette. “You go through there to get to our bedrooms and the bathroom.”

Alright, so he hadn’t been stupid, only ignorant. She did have a key when they came. And now that he thought about it, hadn't she mentioned it before? Fine, a bit stupid.

“It’s comfy here. Fits you.” He took a sip from the glass of water Emilia handed him and no, he did not allow himself to imagine Y/n’s bedroom, even if his thoughts would have liked to drift off.

He finished the glass and excused himself with the necessity of a shower.

“Would you like to come back for lunch? I bet you’ve never eaten asado as tasty as ours,” Emilia proposed when they led him outside, ignoring whatever Y/n was not-so-subtly doing behind his back.

Despite Oikawa’s conscience telling him it was high time to leave them alone, he agreed to return in three hours. Even if he didn't have any idea what the hell this 'asado' was. “If it doesn’t cause any extra work.”

“Please, we’d be happy to have you," Emilia said and elbowed Y/n, “right?”

She grimaced at her, but her smile was genuine when Oikawa caught her gaze. “Right.”

Three hours. Enough time to get rid of the sweat clinging to him and to do a little work for university. He deserved a treat after that. It was Saturday, and the morning had started shitty enough, and- oh who was he kidding? He liked the feeling he got around Y/n.

Maybe he did have a concussion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn’t believe the thing with the favour would be resolved so quickly, did you? Gotta build up some tension first ( ՞ਊ՞)
> 
> Thought it was time to dive deeper into Oikawa’s background, but we get so little information in canon… Filling the gaps with my own ideas was actually kinda fun ngl. I hope it isn't OOC
> 
> Also, this took SO LONG. Writing this chapter, I had a new idea but then the timeline didn’t make sense anymore and I had to rewrite and put that part away for later and uuhhhh
> 
> Conclusion: The author of this work is a Clown™


	7. The Beehive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s start this chapter with a shoutout for @Oikawasbooty who lives in Argentina and helped make things more accurate. Awesome people like you are the reason why the Haikyuu!! fandom is one of my absolute favourites. Sending virtual hugs ⊂(･ω･*⊂)
> 
> On the same note, I put pizza off this chapter’s menu and replaced it with the more culturally fitting asado. If you’re interested, you can read more [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Asado) but basically, it’s barbecue.

There were few matters in this world that Oikawa regarded with true hatred.

Sick days. Disrespect for his decisions. Geniuses. His father, sometimes, when Oikawa thought his mum would die from working all day and worrying all night.

And statistics.

The latter had come to haunt him regularly since he’d started university. It wasn’t so much that he struggled with the concepts, the formulas or the numbers. Rather, he felt a deep defiance for these percentages that rubbed the rules of probability in his face.

So it wasn’t much of a surprise when he found himself yet again glaring at a page of his textbook. ‘How ridiculous your goals appear,’ the Gaussian distribution curve fleered in its silent existence, ‘when reality greets a dreamer’s heart.’

He tried to ignore that. He really did. Enough so that he jotted down an answer for the last exercise, uncaring if it was right or wrong. It had to do. Then he tossed the materials to the other side of the kitchen table which had turned into a home for objects Oikawa did not wish to touch any more than necessary. By now, it had turned into quite the pile.

His mum would have shot him a reprimanding look. Iwaizumi would have told him to get his shit together.

Oikawa wondered what Y/n would do.

He glanced at his phone. Still some time to spare.

A short trip to the bathroom and a confrontation with the mirror later, his hair was in slightly better condition than before, soft and fluffy as usual. The right amount of hair product truly worked wonders, and everyone who didn't take advantage of that was just plain stupid.

He put a smile on his face. Seamless. Easy. Confident. He could do this without making a fool of himself.

Time to find out what exactly asado encompassed.

* * *

In the few hours that he’d been gone, Y/n and Emilia’s flat had turned into a beehive.

The front door was ajar, invisible from the bottom of the staircase, but easily letting in visitors once they had climbed up. And there were a bunch of visitors.

Two women in their twenties were lingering near the bookshelf, laughing with a guy whose clean-shaven head reflected the sun coming through the windows. Music was playing somewhere in the distance. Another girl was discussing something with Y/n by the kitchenette.

“Hey,” Y/n called when she spotted him at the entrance to the living room, “could you lend us a hand?” The dots on her apron overlapped with other stains from some kind of sauce she was preparing.

He made his way over to her and waved at the people on the sofa who had interrupted their conversation to stare. “Hi,” he said, “what’s going on here? You didn’t tell me there would be a party.”

Y/n shrugged. “Oh, these are just a few friends who came over... Emilia and Digo are out on the balcony working the grill.“

“I’m Paula, by the way,” the other girl chimed in, “nice to meet you.” She was shorter than both Oikawa and Y/n with the heavy sort of built he’d started to associate with people who did manual work. Maybe she was a baker.

“Sorry, I should have introduced myself right away,” he apologised, talking loud enough for the group by the bookshelf, too. “I’m Oikawa Tooru.”

Paula snorted and shot Y/n a look. “Yeah, we know.” She didn’t leave him to ponder over that but instead presented the others.

The guy with the shaved head appeared to be most interested. “You play for the Condors, don’t you? I saw you in the newspaper.”

Oikawa nodded. They’d won their last game in three straight sets. “Yeah, Coach Blanco got me on board for this season.”

“So… we can call you Tooru, right?”

Tooru. He’d almost dropped his water bottle when Federico had called him that on his first day. It felt as if a passing stranger on the street suddenly decided to kiss him. Too close. Too intimate.

But at this point, it was just another part of life he grew accustomed to over time. Like his flat or the music, like Spanish. Think new shoes. Think belt.

“Sure, if you want to.”

“Cool.” He returned to his drink. Maybe this was some kind of test? Oikawa hoped he passed.

Y/n cleared her throat and brought his attention back. “Could you take this outside while we finish here? It won’t be too long now.” She held out a plate overflowing with pieces of raw meat.

He managed a nod. “Where…?”

“Down the hallway on the right.”

Once again, Oikawa felt relieved to know his mask stayed in place. It was something he’d learned over the years. Even if he thought he’d die of embarrassment and disorientation and insecurity, as long as he squared his shoulders and kept the smiles coming, nobody suspected anything.

At this point, deception came as easy as breathing.

While he passed through the hallway, the smell of smoke intensified, but it was not at all an unpleasant sort of smell. A hint of grilled meat was mixed somewhere in there. The floor creaked under his weight when he slipped onto the balcony.

For a moment, he was blinded by the blazing sun. Once his eyes adjusted, a table for six as well as a rocking chair crammed beside a grill became visible, leaving just enough space for the average person to move around without knocking over anything, the average person not being built like a pro volleyball player.

“So you made it!” Emilia cheerfully remarked from where she was standing near the fire, tongs in hand. A man had an arm around her shoulders.

“Y/n sent me with this.” Oikawa handed her the plate. “It smells delicious,” he added with a look to the overloaded grill.

The man at her side planted a kiss on her cheek. “Wait until you get to taste it.” On closer inspection, he looked familiar. Add a tray, the smell of coffee…

“Hey, you’re the waiter! Digo, right?”

“And you’re the tea guy,” Digo said good-naturedly. Standing beside him, Oikawa found – not without some pride – that he was the tiniest of bits taller. Where Digo’s frame was all light bones and sharp angles, Oikawa’s shoulders had bulked up on muscle. Despite all that, the other man’s smile had a warmth to it that made him seem bigger.

“Your tea’s great. Helps to keep going, even when Y/n’s found another mistake.”

Emilia laughed. “She can be a little strict sometimes.”

“Your accent’s gotten better, though,” Digo remarked. “It’s much more natural now.”

Oikawa thanked him, a little lost about how to proceed from here on. Apparently, the world decided he’d suffered enough for a day – his back still hurt from the crash –, since the rest of the group chose that moment to join them on the balcony.

Everyone was carrying some food or other, potatoes, sauces, at least three different kinds of salad, bread. It was like a living wave of heavenly promises, spiced with a little side banter and shoving.

Oikawa scrambled to make way, preferably without having to jump onto the grill.

A few minutes of chaos later, everyone but Emilia had squeezed in a seat somewhere. He found himself next to Y/n, their knees brushing against the other's under the table, so close they bumped elbows from time to time. He tried not to think too much about it.

There were other matters to attend anyway.

“This is amazing,” he sighed after the first bite. Not too bloody. Not overdone. Only tender meat melting in his mouth.

“We told you,” Y/n said with a smirk, “ours is the best asado you’ll ever get.” She looked immensely pleased with herself. It was a good look on her.

“All hail the grand masters.”

Digo agreed with an “Amen” before sinking his teeth into the ribs Emilia piled onto his plate. Over the course of the afternoon, Oikawa should learn that Digo was part of the curious people who were able to eat and eat and eat, and still looked starved afterwards.

It wasn’t as if anyone else held back. What he couldn’t quite grasp, however, was the dynamic of people coming and going, falling and rising tides in this swarm of faces. Paula excused herself after a while to get back to work; soon afterwards her seat was taken by a guy in red shorts who turned out to be Digo’s best friend; then another couple stuck their head through the door with two bottles of red wine.

At one point, the manager and the older cashier from the grocery store joined them. Hoping to get in their good graces, Oikawa freed his seat for one of them. Mad Manager still didn’t seem convinced he wasn’t a good-for-nothing.

At least Y/n joined him. They leaned on the balcony’s railing, warm despite being in the shadow.

“So, do you like it?” she asked. Her gaze was directed to the courtyard below them with its tiny patch of dry grass and a single tree braving the ever-present dust.

“What?”

“All of this.” She gestured around them. The wind picked up a strand of her hair and for a moment, she looked so lovely Oikawa needed a second to gather his thoughts.

“To be honest, I didn’t expect to find myself here when I went out for a run in the morning.” He laughed. “It’s the best thing that could have happened.” He felt the comfortable kind of tired that came from an abundance of food and wine paired with good company.

“Then I’m glad, too.” She gently nudged him with her elbow. “It’s nice having you around.”

They stayed like that for a while, the others’ conversations acting as a backdrop for their silence. Oikawa’s skin prickled where he’d touched Y/n, his troubled mind basking in the sun of this present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the feeling my writing gets worse with each chapter... but maybe that's just my head talking shit? Idk guys, it's been a long week


	8. The Middle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music rec: [Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, third movement ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zucBfXpCA6s)
> 
> Call me pretentious, but it’s a banger
> 
> BTW should the improbable case of someone of UPCN reading this come to pass, rest assured that everything I wrote about you is pure fiction. I borrow names from the website and make up my own ideas about each of the people featured in this work. Pls don’t sue me.

As the days flew by, Oikawa woke up one morning to realise it was already mid-season. With the courses at university intensifying, matches with UPCN taking place all over Argentina, Spanish lessons with Y/n continuing – in short, life taking place –, it felt as if he’d been frantically trying to catch up to an invisible opponent. Until he took a breather and found he’d long outrun the ghost.

Fittingly enough, that evening, there was to be a home game. A perfect opportunity to connect with their supporters and replenish energy.

And the fans were eager to fulfil their end of the unspoken deal. Chanting, shouting, following their very movement with unbroken passion, they kept morale high amongst the Condors. When the team managed to score one point after the other, Oikawa believed he might ascend into the sky if he tried.

“One more!”

“Bring it to me!

“Left, left!”

The opponent had a lousy middle blocker. Well, maybe he wasn’t exactly lousy, maybe he had a bad day or recovered from an injury or maybe his cat died.

Oikawa didn’t care. He exploited the weak defence anyway.

The muscles in his legs contracted as he moved to the front. The spikers’ figures getting in position in the corners of his eyes, the fans’ chant pumping confidence through his veins, he took a breath. For a heartbeat, the ball’s smooth surface hugged his fingertips.

They scored again.

Two more rallies, gloriously long, then Coach Blanco signalled for a substitution. The scoreboard indicated they were at the fourth set with only a few points missing for the win.

Oikawa walked off the court, shoulders square and an easy smile on his lips. “Finish this for me, will you?” he said as he grabbed the paddle with the number 13.

“Sure thing,” Sebastián retorted, “watch and learn.”

It was weird to have another setter on the team, and to know that when it came down to it, you weren’t the first choice. When he’d last been in a similar position, a destructive rivalry had taken root.

Kageyama Tobio had been nothing more than a tiny middle schooler back then, a nobody, a nothing. Still, under the pressure of his undeniable genius, Oikawa felt his confidence crumble. He hated this kid, he hated the world, and first and foremost, he hated himself.

Now his eyes followed the other setter without any of that. Sure, his heart ached at the thought of not being number one – but if he wanted to improve, he couldn’t dwell on that. The best he could do was to make everything a learning opportunity.

Coach Blanco stood next to him, arms crossed. “Why did I substitute you now?” he asked without so much as a glance in Oikawa’s direction.

This was a game they played often enough.

“Because Sebastián gives the team the reassurance of having a more experienced colleague in their midst,” Oikawa answered in the manner of a well-behaved schoolboy. “He makes them more stable.”

“Why didn’t I leave you to play till the end of this set since we could risk playing another one?”

Oikawa followed the current rally before attempting an explanation. The Condors really did improve when Sebastián led them. Though their opponent had switched out the weak middle blocker, too.

“So everyone won’t get exhausted? Or because a clear win is always better than playing a full set? It’s about security.”

23:24. The opponent called for a time out. Their last one.

While the players came to surround Blanco, the coach finally looked at Oikawa. “No,” he said, “because your knee hurt again.”

Oikawa stepped aside to leave the other players to their counsel. His mouth twitched.

He accepted the ice pack one of the team’s personnel handed him. The woman gave him a pat on the back. “Well done. Don’t forget to rest. Didn’t the doctor say to come again if your problems get worse?”

A friendly nod in response, then Oikawa dropped onto the bench, cool relief pressed against his aching knee. He’d thought nobody would notice. At some point, he himself had forgotten about the pain, too enwrapped in the heat of the game.

But Blanco knew him, and he knew how to handle him. He certainly knew how to spot a lie, even one conveyed non-verbally.

Damn that old man and his observational skills.

* * *

To celebrate the successful first half of the season, UPCN decided to treat their fans to a surprise. When the initial excitement that exploded among the ranks as they secured their latest win sobered a little, the commentator raised his voice once more.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I ask you to pay attention for another moment. We’ve just been informed that the Condors want to thank you for your continuous support.”

Another wave of applause and cheering. Oikawa didn’t contain his laughter when a little girl in a front seat fell from her mother’s lap in her rush to get up. From his position on the court, he glimpsed enough of the child’s expression to know she would pick up volleyball at one point or another.

Wistfully, Oikawa thought back to this innocent fascination. There lay a simple pleasure in watching and loving. Once you started to do things yourself, he found there was always the implicit element of transferring impressions into your own experience.

Once you connected yourself with the other, your gaze became clouded. No longer was it possible to appreciate the object of your attention in and of itself.

Yet one’s passion could also grow from those experiences and enhance them. And was there truly such a thing as objectivity in watching? Some way or other, everyone brought their predispositions to the table.

Lost in his thoughts, Oikawa missed the commentator’s next words – but the audience’s reaction was hard to overhear. It washed away this sentimental philosophy bullshit. He followed Manuel on his way through the crowds and towards the designated area for the meet-and-greet.

“Do you think your wife wants a picture with us?”

His teammate raised his eyebrows. “I doubt it. There’s a new food vendor down the street that she and Alejandro’s sister want to try. And she’s getting enough of the team anyway. Why do you ask?”

“I just thought she’d like to tell us how you set half the kitchen on fire when you renovated it. Since you,” Oikawa complained with a pout, “won’t say anything on the matter.”

“Fuck you, man.”

He dodged Manuel’s playful attack with a smooth step to the side. Sadly, that meant he collided with another body.

“Hey,” a familiar voice laughed, “trying to sweep me off my feet again?”

There were moments when Oikawa wasn’t sure if he wanted to slap himself or embrace the whole world. “Y/n,” he said and turned towards her, deciding to play along, “did it work?”

“Physically speaking, clearly not.” The sound of her laughter sent goose bumps over his skin. He covered them up by crossing his arms.

Now that his mind started to process her appearance, he noticed Emilia and Digo hand in hand at her side. “Hey, guys.”

The two of them exchanged a look he couldn’t quite place. Once more, he noted how they emitted the air of people who had this whole adulthood thing figured out, but still, mischief sparked in their eyes. He feared the day they decided to unleash their prankster side upon him. For the time being, they settled for a simple, “Well played. What's up with your knee?”

As they continued their chit-chat for a bit, Oikawa’s heart swelled. He loved how easy it was to talk to them, how gladly they accepted his jokes and shared their experiences and insights.

Y/n showed them a picture she’d shot of him in mid-play. How weird it was to look at himself from her point of view, as if he were a stranger. The photo was a little blurry around his feet but not too bad on the whole. She seemed proud of it. When he asked her to send it to him so he could use it for his social media, her mouth eased into a soft smile.

He wanted to wrap his arms around her. To steal her away from everyone else and watch a sunset and take her hand and- Did he…? Oh. Shit.

He did.

“Tooru, where are you?” Federico’s voice pulled him from this hellhole Oikawa found himself in.

He clenched his fist in an attempt to release the tension in his body. Calm down. Calm down. He turned towards Federico.

“The fans are waiting.” His teammate shot him a concerned look. “Are you alright? You’re a little pale.”

The Condors’ supporters streamed beside them in a jumble of heads and colours and voices. Now that Oikawa paid more attention to his surroundings, he spotted a giant queue in front of the podium for the meet-and-greet.

“I’m only tired,” he explained with a lazy grin. What was he supposed to do? All he wanted at the moment was a room to himself to think without anyone interrupting. Or a room with Y/n. No, he didn’t. He shouldn’t. _What the hell was wrong with him?_ Oh, he’d fucked up. Big time.

Federico didn’t seem convinced. Neither did anyone else.

“Come on,” Oikawa snorted, pushing this tense feeling into an abandoned corner of his heart, “let’s go. I didn’t realise how much time has passed since we started talking.”

He avoided Y/n’s eyes when he waved his friends goodbye. There were some things you simply couldn’t ask of a man in his situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So…. our boy’s had a revelation. Which means we’re slowly getting to the interesting parts Ψ( ｀▽´ )Ψ
> 
> Anyway, this story reached over 800 hits! I. LOVE. ALL. OF. YOU. Literally started to sob whenever I got notifications for kudos and comments أ‿أ (Yes, soft potato here. No, can't switch it off.)
> 
> Have a wonderful week, consider yourself thoroughly appreciated, and remember you make someone’s day!


	9. Drowning in the Deep, Climbing to the Top

Coach Blanco banned Oikawa from playing the next two matches.

Maybe he should have anticipated something of the like after the doctor told him to be more considerate of his body; maybe relieving the strain on his knee would help in the long run. Everyone told him he should accept it. Move on.

But how could he? Here he was again, so close to reaching his goals, only for another obstacle to punch him in the gut.

As if all that wasn’t enough, apparently, college decided he needed more pressure. He failed a quiz. A professor advised him to go back home if he didn’t intend to take his studies seriously. Oikawa squared his shoulders and promised to try harder.

He would get through this. He had to.

Then his phone shoved the next affront into his face, and Oikawa would have liked to smash it against the wall. However, as the sensible adult that he was, he just put it in his backpack. With a tiny bit more force than necessary.

All throughout the day, the news tickled the back of his mind, prodded at old scars, slid its clammy fingers under his skin. At the gym. During lectures. When Y/n came over for an exceptional study session in his flat, since their usual café was on holiday for two weeks.

She picked up on his foul mood quickly enough. “What’s the problem? Why’re you so riled up?”

“I’m not-“

She raised her eyebrows as if to say _Don’t you fucking dare to lie_ and made herself comfortable on the sofa cushions next to him. Under different circumstances, the sight of her – on _his_ couch, in _his_ flat, where they were _alone_ – would have sped up the rhythm of Oikawa’s heart. Now those beats were drowned out by the drums of a war waging in his mind.

“Come on, tell me.”

Under her scrutinizing stare, his resolve crumbled. But if she regretted asking later on, he could say it had been her own fault for insisting.

So he let it all out. “Well, in short, there’s this guy who’s my junior. A… rival of sorts. Apparently, he’s been chosen to train for Japan’s national team.”

“Ah.” Y/n blinked. “I thought you don’t care much about competition. At least you said you didn’t mind Sebastián.”

“I don’t. Only… this guy – tiny little Kageyama Tobio – he’s a _genius_. It pisses me off. He almost got my spot on the team in junior high though he’s two years younger.”

“It doesn’t matter. Everyone develops at a different pace.”

“But it’s not fair!” Oikawa interjected and his anger flared up like a fire on petrol. “Why should geniuses have it easier in life?” He knew and he hated how he sounded. A petty nothing. A loser complaining about his place in the world.

“It doesn’t matter if you’re a genius or not. The points scored through your setting are the same as the points scored through his setting. Also, I think everyone has to work hard to achieve the level of skill needed for international sports.”

He avoided her gaze. Of course, she didn’t understand, how could she?

“Oikawa,” she said insistently. When he didn’t react, she added a soft, “ _Tooru_.”

Their eyes met. He couldn’t conceal the vulnerability in his as she grabbed his hand, brows furrowed, more serious than he’d expected.

There was something fierce to her in that moment, and it almost made him forget why they were in this situation in the first place.

“You don’t need to put others down to push yourself up. Everyone’s amazing in their own way.” Y/n’s grip was steady. Her eyes were pools of starlight, drawing him in. “You are amazing.”

Oikawa gulped. His gaze dropped to her lips. He wondered if they were as soft as they looked.

“Thank you,” he managed to mutter, voice husky, a little out of breath. The tips of his ears felt too hot. The whole room felt too hot. Had his couch gotten smaller since she was here?

He forced a laugh. No use getting lost in fantasy. “Didn’t know you’d get this serious about my whining. I’m flattered, Y/n.”

“Shut up.” She let go of his hand, warmth disappearing into nothing, and got to her feet. “Now, let’s go out and grab a snack. I’m starving and it’s no use trying to study when you’re like this.”

Oikawa nodded. The weight on his shoulders had become lighter. The ghost of her touch lingered on his hands. He stretched his fingers to see if they still obeyed his orders or if they’d fallen under her spell so thoroughly that he wouldn’t be able to use them anymore.

They left the flat debating where to get food. Y/n was a master of changing topics, changing conversations, maybe even changing people. He would’ve started to believe everything that happened earlier had been nothing but a dream if she hadn’t stopped short on the last step of the stairs.

“If you work hard enough, you might make it to the next Olympics,” she said earnestly, her hand on the iron railing twitching before she turned around and faced him.

He gave a half-smile. “I don’t think Japan wants me as their setter as long as Tobio’s still in the run.”

“Then you’ll just have to play for Argentina,” she observed. Her serious demeanour turned into something lighter.

She descended with a spring in her step and went for the door. It screeched open, letting in the sounds of passing cars. A siren howled in the distance. “How long exactly are you planning on staring into space?”

Oikawa stifled a laugh. He was so fucking doomed.

* * *

The next day, he was woken by a text from Y/n telling him to get up. Thirty minutes later, he found himself in the passenger seat of a rusty Jeep, still half asleep, blinking at the dry landscape passing by. Y/n hummed along to an old-fashioned song on the radio.

She looked weirdly out of place behind the steering wheel of such a huge vehicle, but completely at ease nonetheless. It seemed it wasn’t the first time she did something like this.

"My cousin said we could keep the car for the whole day," she explained. "As long as he’s got a full tank tomorrow, he doesn’t mind."

"How'd you get him to agree?"

"Told him I'd go hitchhiking otherwise." She laughed. "Sometimes my family is too predictable for their own good. By the way, you don't mind hiking, do you?"

He stifled a yawn and shook his head. " As long as I don’t overstrain my knee too much… I'm told I'm in pretty good shape." At this point, he'd built up enough stamina to climb Mount Everest. Probably. Maybe.

"Good, cause we're going up there."

Oikawa tore his eyes from her face to see what she was pointing at. The road before them unrolled the carpet of a rocky landscape, the Andes’ peaks in the distance a promise of more. With the clear, blue sky over their heads and the sun at their back, it was a breath-taking view.

When Y/n told him yesterday he should get his mind off his worries for a while, he hadn’t anticipated the exploration of the area around San Juan, but who was he to complain? She was still here after his meltdown. She cared enough to plan all this in less than 24 hours.

She was the only thing keeping him sane during this hellish week.

So he tagged along when they left the Jeep at a ranger station and continued on foot. Wordlessly, he loaded her backpack onto his shoulders and listened when she started to tell stories of her family’s weekend trips.

“Your parents’ house isn’t far from here?”

“A few kilometres to the south,” she said and gestured vaguely down the path, “but we only see each other when I visit them on the weekends.”

Oikawa didn’t miss the hint of sadness in her voice. It made his heart ache.

“Anyway, it’s alright. They’ve done enough for me already,” Y/n waved the topic aside. He understood if she didn’t want to talk about her problems, after all they’d come here to wind down.

Maybe Y/n needed it as much as Oikawa.

There were few other hikers on the trail as the sun ascended higher over the horizon and brought insufferable heat with her. Despite his stamina, soon sweat trickled down his face.

When he noticed Y/n growing quieter, her breaths getting heavier next to him, he adjusted his walking speed without making it too obvious. She looked grateful enough. Her cheeks were flushed red from the exercise, but her eyes shone clear as usual.

They continued in silence until Oikawa noticed whispering water, the sound louder with every step forward. Was there a river he didn’t know about?

“Lunch time!” Y/n declared finally, spreading her arms in the animated manner of a Saturday night TV-show presenter. Following a few steps behind her, he knew they’d reached their destination when a small waterfall came into sight.

It looked as if someone had reached right into a painting and pulled the scenery out. Clear, fresh water spilled from between the rocks, darkening the sandy colour, while moss crawled up to meet the moisture. A breeze was blowing stray droplets in their direction, cooling their faces.

“Wow.”

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Y/n had a smug grin on her lips. “Always worth the hike.”

They settled on a couple of rocks to the side, finding the perfect balance between the cool water and the warmth the stone absorbed from the sun. With a sandwich in hand, the blue sky above and Y/n beside him, Oikawa felt on top of the world.

His professors could fuck off. Coach Blanco could treat him like an irresponsible child. Tobio could have the stupid national team. At the moment, he didn’t have it in him to care.

“Do you mind if we stay for a while longer?” he asked, a little self-conscious, after both of them had finished eating. “I don’t want to go home, not yet.”

Y/n smiled at him in the soft way that made his throat dry and his pulse race and his thoughts incoherent. “As I said, the Jeep’s ours until tomorrow. And I don’t mind spending time with you.”

Oh, how could she say that so easily, as if there wasn’t anything more obvious in the world? Didn’t she know what a dangerous thing that was?

In the heat of the moment, Oikawa almost reached for her hand, only to withdraw at the last second and grab a water bottle instead. No. He couldn’t.

This was just… this was just a crush. He’d had enough of these over the years, usually on pretty girls who gave him self-made bento during the break, or boys who could spike better than anyone else. There’d been a time when he wondered what it’d be like to kiss Iwaizumi.

But the girls either started to bore him after a few dates, or they got sick of his endless hours at the gym. And Iwaizumi? He was his best friend. He’d always been his best friend. He’d always be his best friend. Who would ever want to ruin that with a silly teenage crush?

The feelings vanished after a few weeks, and Oikawa was left with the satisfaction of having done the right thing. He was a better friend than boyfriend. He was a better teammate than boyfriend. He was almost everything better than a boyfriend.

Facing a similar situation with Y/n shouldn’t have surprised him. She had been the first person to make him feel at home in Argentina. She was intelligent and funny and beautiful, and her smiles were infectious, and he never, never wanted to hurt her.

So he kept his hands to himself as they spent the whole day together, walking around the trails, exploring hidden corners, talking about anything and nothing at all.

By the time the sky turned orange, a satisfying tiredness nested in Oikawa’s limbs. Y/n and he leaned against the Jeep’s hood and watched the sun disappear behind the horizon. He felt himself reminded of all the times he'd walked home from practice in the evening. With Iwaizumi. And all the times since then that he'd walked home without company.

"I have a question."

Y/n glanced at him and brushed a strand of hair off her face. "Hm?"

"What do you think a sunset looks like from space?”

Y/n huffed. "That's a strange thing to ask." She didn’t say it in a mean tone, there was only curiosity mixed with something... warm. "Why?"

"Just wondering." How could he tell her that sometimes his heart ached because of this beauty in the ordinary? How could he thank her for the day, for her time, for her being herself without sounding like an idiot?

"I'm sure it looks as pretty as ours down here."

Maybe she understood well enough anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The waterfall scene is based off one (1) photo I found on Google and a single sentence on TripAdvisor or sth so… might not be too close to the real thing haha
> 
> Btw if anyone’s interested in [what a sunset actually looks like from space](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LEBGW7dXSoE), I got you fam (if you don’t want to watch the whole thing, the climax starts at min 6)
> 
> Lastly, thanks again for all the love and support. It means the world to me. I'm still trying to avoid mistakes in my English, so if you find something, pls do tell


	10. A Breath of Sunshine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone commented they wanted more Iwa when I had already finished the outline for this chapter... great minds think alike

March came, and Oikawa found that soon it would be a year since he’d moved to Argentina. How strange a thing time was. First the hours melted away agonizingly slowly, then suddenly the months had flown by and left you wondering what else you had missed.

March also meant a break from college. And while his obligations with the team kept him here and his family was busy back in Japan, Iwaizumi took it upon himself to see what Oikawa had been up to on the other side of the globe.

“Awww, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa teased him when they talked about his plans, “so you _do_ miss my pretty face!”

“It’s not like we haven’t skyped, idiot. Now, can I stay at your flat or is the stench too much for a normal person?”

Even if Iwaizumi didn’t admit it out loud, his pure happiness as he got off the bus spoke for itself. Oikawa felt the grin mirrored on his own face. An energetic greeting, a clap on the shoulder, a hug.

They strolled down the street side by side, and while Iwaizumi complained about the 16-hour flight, Oikawa couldn’t help but wonder how easily they slipped back into their old ways. Hearing the Japanese of home, without the disruptions of a bad signal, made him almost nostalgic. How simple it became to express his thoughts, words fitting their meaning like a glove.

Though Iwaizumi did display a certain tendency to switch into English now and then.

“You sound like an American,” Oikawa mocked him. He attempted an exaggerated imitation of Iwaizumi’s pronunciation, causing the other to cringe.

“And what about you, still afraid of asking for directions?”

“I’d like to inform you that I’ve gotten much better since I started private lessons with Y/n-chan.”

Iwaizumi adjusted his bag with an annoying expression on his face. As if he wanted to make a remark but then decided to let it go. How atypical of him. “I hope you’ll introduce us while I’m here.”

No sooner said than done, Y/n found herself invited to Ullúm Dam the very next day. Located at a gorge, people went there for a hop into the water, for fishing, boating, sunbathing. One of his teammates had offered to drop them off there when Oikawa had mentioned his visitor from the US.

He couldn’t deny the nervousness at the back of his mind, stabbing places he didn’t want to examine too closely. Iwaizumi had been his best friend for as long as he could think and Y/n… was just Y/n. He needed them to get along.

It turned out his worries had been unfounded. In fact, those two seemed to get along a little _too_ well.

“So imagine us, a little tipsy, a little lightheaded,” Iwaizumi recounted in his new way of speaking English as if it were second nature, “and this genius here“ – he ducked away from Oikawa’s sorry attempt of putting a hand over his mouth while Y/n was starting to tear up with laughter – “he walks up to the girl and asks, ‘Do you have milk bread in your bag?’”

“Don’t act so innocent! You guys got me drunk on purpose!”

Other people around their little island of blankets already started to give their group dirty looks. Though those giggling teenage girls might as well have been checking them out. If so, he couldn’t blame them, could he? He was gorgeous after all. And if one of them had their eye on Y/n… he could relate to that. Iwaizumi? Wasn’t too bad either.

“And she sort of backed away with the most haunted look on her face,” said friend continued. “I think we apologised to her the next day at school.”

“ _I_ did,” Oikawa interrupted. “You didn’t lift a finger!” His cheeks started to hurt from all this laughter.

Iwaizumi shrugged and shifted his attention to their picnic basket where he rummaged for a soda can. Its contents fizzled softly when he cracked it open.

Meanwhile Oikawa felt like he’d swallowed the sun. Breathing hadn’t come this easy in a long time. Of course, he’d been happy. Only… with both of these people at his side, the struggles of life ducked under the radar. At least most of them.

“I guess teenagers are stupid all over the world,” Y/n pondered. “I remember a classmate getting drunk before a chemistry exam, handing it in, and as soon as our teacher left the room, he puked his brains out. Right into his schoolbag.” A fond chuckle. “Somehow he still got a higher score than the rest of us.”

Oikawa pictured the scene. “Maybe I should consider getting some of that stuff before finals week.”

At that, Iwaizumi perked up again. “Y/n, promise to send me footage of that.”

“Gladly.” They exchanged a look of what Oikawa could only call evil, evil bonding.

To his luck – else they might have decided to bully him with joint forces –, Iwaizumi chose this moment to get up. He pulled his shirt over his head, leaving him in swimming trunks. The giggling from the group of teenagers behind them got louder. So it was _him_ they were fawning over.

Iwaizumi gestured to the water across the pebble beach. “I need to cool down a little. Anyone want to join me?”

Y/n shook her head. “I’m not abandoning this perfect spot.” The wind rustled through the sunshade as if in agreement. They had come quite early to secure a place like this.

“Nah,” Oikawa declined, too. “You’ll just be mean to me again.” Plus Iwaizumi had always been a better swimmer than him. He’d be fine on his own.

“Your loss.” Not bothered in the slightest, his best friend made his way through the colourful pattern of towels and loungers occupied by what seemed to be half of San Juan’s residents. In a hunch of envy, Oikawa noted the way he fit into the crowd, no special effort required. The complete opposite of him who only ever knew how to stick out. Lucky bastard.

Y/n sighed and sprawled on the plaid blanket. The sunshade above them drew patterns on her skin. Oikawa had had a hard time facing her squarely ever since she’d taken her dress off. ~~~~

“You were right, he does have an American accent,” she contemplated out of the blue. So, switching back to Spanish? A different hat for their thoughts. “Actually… how’s my accent?”

Oikawa cocked his head. “It’s fine in English. I’m probably worse than you. When it comes to Japanese… we’re still working on that. And by now, your _castellano_ is my reference for the right pronunciation, so I can’t say anything other than that it sounds kind of... cute.” His heart rate accelerated at the last part. (Keep breathing, in and out, in and out.)

She seemed content with this assessment and closed her eyes with a hum. "I like languages. Learning a new one always feels a little like going on a trip."

"Why don't you go on a real trip?"

She huffed. "It's not that easy. Some of us can't leave the country on a whim. Obligations and money and all that." Her hands fluttered vaguely through the air. A bikini strap slipped a little off her shoulder but she either didn't notice or didn't care to put it back in place.

While Oikawa had the distinct feeling he'd had a counterargument in mind, it had vanished somewhere on the way from his brain to his mouth. Once again, he thanked all the gods that mind reading wasn’t a real thing. Y/n might have murdered him. Or… no. He would not go down that particular rabbit hole.

“I’d like to see Japan one day,” she mused after it became clear he wasn’t going to add anything, “once I’ve made enough money.”

He willed his eyes away from her figure, instead looking over the dam. “I could show you around, you could stay at my mum’s.”

“It’s a deal.”

While he didn’t want to ruin the moment, Oikawa’s curiosity took over at last. “You don’t have to answer if the topic’s too uncomfortable, but… just what is it that you want to do after your gap year? You mentioned once that college wasn’t for your family, so I’m still wondering.”

A few seconds ticked by, and he started to think he’d made a mistake by touching that subject. Why did he have to bring it up? Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Have you never been afraid of doing things you like?” she countered the question, finally.

“Why should I?”

“I mean, what if you put all that effort into something, only to fail? Following your dreams sounds great – as long as you don’t consider the possibility of, well, _not_ succeeding.”

“Sure, there’s that,” he conceded. Of course there was always the possibility of failure. Else everyone would do whatever their heart desired. “But if you don’t even try, you’re failing, too. So why not go for it with all you’ve got instead?”

She hummed. “Makes an awful lot of sense.” Then more words dropped from her lips, reluctantly at first, spilling her secrets, revealing what she wished her life to be. Maybe it was as much a confession as it was a request, to fate or the gods, to whatever mended human lives.

Oikawa listened. He took it in, he took her in, and he found he wanted nothing but for her to get everything she dreamed of.

At the end, he couldn’t – he wouldn’t – suppress his instinct. He reached for her hand and squeezed it softly. When her fingers closed around his, his heart leaped into the sky, the rest of the world vanishing from his heavenly seat on cloud nine.

They sat in comfortable silence like that, Y/n dozing off, Oikawa people watching. The group of teenagers were playing a card game. An old man with a sun hat had a book in one hand and a sandwich in the other. At one point he almost took a bite off the book. Children were playing tag amongst the bathers, bursting into shrieks whenever someone came too near.

He spotted Iwaizumi as he crossed the pebbled beach and slowly withdrew his hand from Y/n’s.

“One of those canoes nearly killed me,” his friend explained offhand and shook his wet hair like a dog, distributing water droplets to everyone in his direct vicinity. Oikawa’s lack of reaction earned him a suspicious look. "Oi, you okay? You're all red in the face."

"It's too hot," he complained and drew the 'o' extra long. Better to sound whiney than… never mind.

Iwaizumi didn't seem convinced but grabbed his towel without another comment.

Y/n side-eyed him. "If you're going to collapse, please do it quietly. Some of us are trying to relax here."

"Yes, Ma'am."

They stayed until sunset and decided the day had been too hot for anything else anyway. Oikawa’s head was spinning because of all the times they switched languages. It felt like a linguistic fashion show, only that the other models were able to change in the fraction of a second whereas he stumbled from the catwalk to the changing room and forgot his socks on the way out.

They hitched a ride back to San Juan with Y/n’s friend Paula, who happened to work for the company operating the dam. The two women filled the silence with small talk and while it was a short drive, Oikawa and Iwaizumi struggled to fold their legs into place on the back seats.

Paula dropped them off at the parking lot of a hardware store, so Oikawa and the others walked the rest of the way. Getting out again was a relief.

The streets were still lively. Though the asphalt radiated the day’s heat, the air had finally cooled down. In front of a restaurant, a crowd gathered to listen to a group of musicians.

Consciously or not, Y/n stopped in her tracks. Now that Oikawa gave it a closer look, a dancing couple emerged behind the backs of the audience. Passion charged their steps.

Y/n followed their movements with overt awe. He would’ve mocked her – if only she hadn’t been so terribly adorable. All of a sudden he wished to get her to dance with him, someday. The sole idea made his heart flutter.

The piece ended in a dramatic crescendo and the dancers struck one last pose, faces so close that they must have felt the other’s breath. A beat, then the small crowd erupted into applause.

Oikawa joined in politely. His gaze was transfixed on Y/n’s face. There was that gleam in her eyes that he’d come to love, brighter than every star in the sky.

“Let’s get going,” Iwaizumi suggested. “I’m starving.”

Y/n snapped out of her stupor. “Yeah... let’s go.”

As they resumed their walk through the streets of San Juan, the music died down little by little. Y/n began to ask Iwaizumi about college and he inquired about her Japanese lessons, so that their chit-chat accompanied the draining of the sky’s vivid colours.

By the time they reached the crossroads, a tent of scarab blue stretched over the roofs of the city. Y/n left them with a casual wave and disappeared through the back door of the grocery store. Oikawa pictured the stairwell that led to her flat, the flowers and Emilia’s shoes at the entrance. Maybe it would smell of the food her cousin cooked.

Iwaizumi’s and his steps sounded heavy on the pavement when they made their way to his own flat, hands shoved into their pockets. Oikawa hummed a tune that he'd caught from a passing car.

His neighbours’ usual bickering welcomed him home in the hallway. At this point, they didn’t even bother him. He was still fumbling with his keys when Iwaizumi broke the easy silence between them.

“You should tell her.”

Oikawa froze. Of fucking course, his best friend had to notice.

“Maybe.” The keys jangled softly when he unlocked the door. He held it open with one hand and bowed with a flourish. “Mi casa es tu casa. There should be leftovers in the fridge.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of the new Haikyuu season got me hyped! Would you be interested if I were to write for other characters after finishing this fic? Might have some ideas for sth Sakuatsu related. Or should I keep writing reader insert, maybe with Akaashi?
> 
> Btw if anyone wants to chat or idk stalk my Tumblr, feel free to drop in [@introvertedfangirlpower](https://introvertedfangirlpower.tumblr.com/) (∩_∩)


	11. Tastes Like Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My employer gave me a shitty task to get done until next Friday, so naturally I procrastinated by writing another chapter
> 
> If you want to know what mate is, look [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mate_\(drink\)). In short, it’s a traditional Argentine drink, similar to tea
> 
> Music rec: [Walking Disasters by The Wombats](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BKLgOvypPnI)

Iwaizumi stayed for a week.

Oikawa took this as an excuse for extensive sightseeing. They visited local museums. Y/n introduced them to mate in the shade of an equestrian statue in Parque de Mayo. They went to the theatre and watched a play during which Iwaizumi took a nap since they’d somehow forgotten that he didn’t speak a single word of Spanish (he said the nap was great, so no hard feelings there). As it got dark, they went clubbing, stayed up until sunrise and slept through all of the next day.

Of course, Iwaizumi was introduced to the entirety of UPCN. He even got to watch practice from Blanco’s bench, and in the end, some of Oikawa’s teammates agreed to play a three-on-three with him on Oikawa’s team.

It was heaven, and far too soon did the last evening of his stay arrive.

To commemorate the end of this special week, they decided to cook something extraordinary. Combining their individual skills – however limited these might’ve been –, they squeezed in together in Oikawa’s tiny kitchen. While Iwaizumi was snipping vegetables, he prepared the soup, nearly burning himself on the hot stove when they bumped elbows by accident.

They hadn’t been able to get seaweed on such short notice, but lettuce would do, too. Thanks to the grocery store’s freshness policy, earth from the fields still clung to the leaves. So instagramable.

That reminded Oikawa of something he’d wanted to do since they came up with this plan.

“Oi, what're you doing?” Iwaizumi protested when he pulled his phone out.

“Let’s take a selfie! I want to show off our work.”

A death stare, then a sigh. “Fine, let me just take off the apron-“

Too late. Oikawa had already taken a picture – sporting a peace sign and a broad grin while Iwaizumi was still in mid-sigh, showing off his biceps unpromptedly as he raised his arms to the back of his neck. Behind them, the near-finished product of their labour presented itself on the kitchen counter.

It was the best selfie he’d taken in a while, and he uploaded it with little hesitation.

“I swear to god, if this wasn’t my last evening here, I’d kick your ass,” Iwaizumi complained. But his lips curled into the hint of a smile.

“Iwa-chan! How could you say that? I’m simply showing my followers the natural state of things.” Oikawa ducked away, narrowly avoiding a playful hit.

Yeah, everything was back to normal.

They were still enjoying their meal, chatting about their respective classes, when a phone call from Mattsun interrupted. With a glance to the clock, Oikawa found it must have been around eight in the morning in Japan. He and Iwaizumi exchanged a look of surprise, then he put Mattsun on speaker.

However, the voice greeting them did decidedly not belong to him.

“Hello, ladies,” Makki cackled, “where'd you get that apron? Mattsun would love one, too.”

“Shut up, man,” the phone's owner protested faintly in the background. “I thought we’d decided to bully our beloved ex-captain.”

Oikawa chose to ignore that comment. (At least he was their _beloved_ ex-captain, right?) “Got it from a friend for Christmas. She said the pink of the hearts brings out the colour of my eyes.” In precaution, he leaned away from Iwaizumi. “It surely suits Iwa-chan, don’t you think so?”

And thus, a discussion over what exactly encompassed proper cooking etiquette unfolded. It was neither serious nor meaningful, but that was what made it so nostalgic. At the same time, all of them had changed over the course of the last year, some in more, others in less obvious ways.

Makki spoke more often, Mattsun displayed a newfound love for puns involving death, Iwaizumi switched to English whenever he forgot a word in Japanese. And Oikawa?

At the very least, he felt different.

“Anyway, what are you up to now?” he asked after an episode of teasing him for his excessive use of hair products. “Mattsun, do you really work in your grandpa’s funeral home?”

“Of _corpse._ The job’s not too bad, actually.”

It should turn into a long night, filled with laughter and bittersweet memories, and the taste of home. When Oikawa decided to put an end to it, once again taking up the role of leader, he had a hard time keeping his eyes open.

Twelve hours later, Iwaizumi sat in a plane headed to California. The break was over.

* * *

 **_From: Y/n-chan_ ** **_♡_ **

_[13:43] Oikawa_

_[13:45] Tooru_

_[14:01] EMERGENCY_

_[14:10] Hello???_

_[15:18] Are you asleep?_

_[15:30] I know you’re not on one of your runs, Doña Julieta didn’t see you and she sees everything_

_[15:35] Oikawa Tooru, answer me_

_[15:40] Sleepykawa_

_[15:42] Reply-or-you-ll-be-dead-kawa_

_[15:50] … you aren’t lying dead in a ditch somewhere, are u?_

_[16:30] Call me ASAP!!!_

Scrolling through the string of messages from Y/n, Oikawa got the feeling he was in trouble.

He’d spent the whole afternoon over his textbooks, for once trying to get ahead in his classes so as to not fail them all. His always bickering neighbours were gone on vacation, terrorizing other people for a change. The trumpeter in the flat above had stopped practicing after half an hour. His phone had stayed silent the entire time.

Suspiciously silent.

Oikawa had no idea why the messages hadn’t been delivered. He just hoped she wouldn’t kill him now, and tapped on her name in his call history.

“Hi, sorry for not replying earlier,” he started. “I think my phone’s-“

“It’s alright, I don’t care.” Despite the reassurance, Y/n's voice sounded strained. As if she’d swallowed something particularly unpleasant, like rotten eggs or green pepper. Yuck. “Do you still remember the favour you owe me? From your first game?”

Ah, that. Their little bet lay back a few months but Oikawa assured her he did, in fact, recall. He squared an ankle over one knee, eyes on his notes, Y/n’s face on his mind. This smelled like an interesting story, a new adventure to unfold in the secret map of time.

“Are you free next Sunday?” she asked without much ado, though he nearly felt her suppressed sigh against his cheek, “and do you have proper attire for a wedding?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you didn’t expect a side dish of Matsuhana, hm? Or another chapter for that matter, even if it's not much ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Btw this reached over 1.2k hits. It scares me, greatly.


	12. Suit Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music rec: [this playlist](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vynwgxoYz3E)

Oikawa had never been in a church before. It hadn’t occurred to him to visit one, after all he didn’t particularly like religion, no matter the god. To him, the belief in an all-knowing force determining fate sounded like a lame excuse.

If you wanted to get ahead, you crafted the way with your own hands, scratching at the barriers of your personal hellhole with bloody fingernails, inching forwards bit by bit. Success wasn’t handed out on a silver tablet randomly. It wasn’t a key given to you by heavenly forces. You made the fucking door on your own.

However, when Y/n and he entered the church side by side, he had to admit the atmosphere was nice enough. Colourful dresses and suits, the noise of dozens of people chatting as they were waiting for the service to start, children squirming impatiently in the pews. At the very least, it was a bit cooler than outside.

“I still can’t believe Emilia and Digo managed to keep all this a secret for so long,” Y/n mumbled as they were making their way to the seats, sending smiles and short nods to the other guests. She wore a dress that complimented her skin type, made her glow in the evening light.

When he’d first seen her, he’d had to gulp.

“I thought you were joking when you told me they dropped the bombshell at your family lunch. Who tells the guests about their wedding less than a week before it actually happens?” Oikawa scanned the crowd for familiar faces, only getting a glance at a very nervous Digo in the front before a fat man with a moustache blocked the view. “It’s weird.”

Y/n chuckled when they took their seats next to an older couple in matching burgundy. “It’s very Emilia... By the way, these are my parents.”

Oh. Alright, this didn’t come as much of a surprise, did it? Naturally, her parents would be here, too. They were related to Emilia after all. Of course. Why were his palms so sweaty all of a sudden?

“Hello, you must be Tooru!” Y/n’s mother took the first step. Now that he regarded her more closely, the resemblance was apparent. “We’ve heard so much about you already.”

Certain moments in your life will always stick with you. Like your first kiss or the day a loved one died or that one time in third grade when you got all the answers right on that one quiz that everyone else failed. The conversation with Y/n’s parents was not that kind of experience.

It was more like an internal rollercoaster ride of _did he just tell me to treat her right_ and _is she suggesting we’re next_ and _I think they got the wrong idea but how I wish they didn’t._ It got Oikawa’s head spinning.

Only after a few minutes, when they turned around to talk to another pair of newcomers, could he catch a breath. Y/n didn’t meet his gaze. He gently nudged her with his elbow.

“Hey, are you okay?”

A quick nod. Was she mad at him? Was she mad at her parents? Was she just nervous?

He nudged her again, trying to make it playful, to make the situation a little less awkward. “What is it? Come on, tell me.”

She sighed and with a quiet voice, either because she was ashamed or so that nobody else could overhear, she apologised. Oikawa had no idea why the hell she apologised.

“When I told them I’d bring you along they might’ve assumed we uh- we are-“ Fiddling with her fingers, she stumbled along a crooked path of explanation, but he understood well enough. “I couldn’t correct them. I didn’t want to be the only cousin who’s single at a wedding, not again.”

If they hadn’t been sitting in a church with more than a hundred other people around, Oikawa would’ve been tempted to press a kiss to her temple there and then. Instead, he just grabbed her hand and winked conspicuously.

“Don’t worry, Y/n-chan,” he said loud and clearly. “I think they’ll start soon. No need to overthink.” He knew what it felt like as the odd one out in your own family.

She froze for a second, then she squeezed his hand and smiled sheepishly. “Alright. If you say so.”

Their hands stayed intertwined for the rest of the ceremony, his calluses brushing against her skin, shared warmth between their palm lines. Maybe someone else could’ve told their future with their help. Maybe friends weren’t supposed to hold hands like that. Oikawa didn’t care.

Seldom did he choose to leave his thoughts behind, analysing everything and everyone, but this once, he was content with holding on to her. Digo and Emilia were walking down the aisle, Y/n was here. The bridal couple exchanged rings, Y/n was here. The priest was reiterating blessings spoken countless times over the centuries, Y/n was here.

In this present, it felt comfortable. Secure. Right.

After the service, the wedding party swarmed to a hotel’s banquet hall, a loud, cheerful, slightly chaotic mass of people who all seemed to know each other in some way or other. Oikawa didn’t have time to worry about that because as soon as they sat at the table, he was bombarded with questions.

_Where do you come from? What about your family? How do you like it in Argentina? I heard you’re playing for the Condors, is that true? How did you and Y/n meet?  
_

Oikawa didn’t mind the attention. Well, mostly. Y/n’s cousins did have a knack for personal questions but he doubted they had ill intentions. At least dinner provided some form of diversion.

He was shoving a fork full of meat into his mouth, when the blonde cousin across from him raised her voice over the general hum of conversation. “So, since when are you dating?”

Oikawa nearly choked. Y/n grew tense at his side but offered a helpful hit on the back, showing surprising strength. Maybe she put her panic in it. He pressed out a “Thanks”, then they exchanged a quick look.

“Three months.”

“A week.”

Brows raised around them. Oh fuck. Now, a plan. Oikawa Tooru, so-called smooth talker. Quick. Say something. Improvise.

“We er – we had some-“

“At first, we didn’t know-“

“It’s complicated,” they concluded in unison. Y/n’s face mirrored his relief, both of them breaking into giggles at the absurdity of the situation.

She sighed and ran her hand over the tablecloth’s smooth surface. Their eyes met again. Another fit of laughter bubbled up in Oikawa’s chest. Y/n’s eyes crinkled as she took a sip of wine.

Oikawa did the same; he wouldn’t say more. He couldn’t. The situation was ridiculous. For some reason, it was the funniest thing ever.

“Well, how’s everything on your end?” Y/n changed the topic after picking up on the general confusion at their antics. “I heard you and Santiago are looking for a house?”

They steered clear of any more questions regarding their relationship. Though Oikawa didn’t miss the critical looks the blonde cousin shot them from time to time. He decided he didn’t like that girl. Not at all.

* * *

His reservations about her were affirmed later when he returned from the bathroom. It was a little walk from the banquet hall, hidden in a corridor linked to the kitchens, where the band’s playing softened and an open window reminded of the nightly street outside.

It was nice to get a breather after hours and hours of festivities.

That was until howling laughter disturbed the silence, the people responsible hidden around the corner. At first, Oikawa didn’t pay much attention to them. Drunks were anticipated at this point.

Then they brought up Y/n’s name.

“Look,” someone slurred, “I ‘aven’t seen ‘em doin’ anythin’ all night… obvious she lied.” The blonde cousin.

“Who’d date her anyway?” a man cackled. “That guy’s probably an actor she paid or something.”

“He’s hot.” Another girl, but Oikawa couldn’t give the sound a face.

“Definitine-“ the first one struggled, “defini – _sure_ an actor.”

At this point, Oikawa had heard enough. Rage made his blood boil. Though his first instinct would’ve been to hit those bastards until they couldn’t move, he forced his mind to work rationally. Slower than usual – of course, after a few rounds of drinks – but doable. A plan.

Enough with the hiding. Enough with the waiting and yearning and hurting.

He’d show them.

Step one: don’t acknowledge their existence. He didn’t so much as glance at them when he walked past the group.

Step two: get the band on board. The lead singer’s face lit up with joy when he made his request.

Step three: get Y/n. Oikawa’s eyes roamed the crowd, scanning for the familiar smile, the colour of her dress, the way she held herself. Where…? There, next to Emilia. With a couple of younger guests, some of them still teenagers, others in their late twenties.

He straightened his tie and wiggled through the merrymakers until he was close enough to catch her laughter. “Y/n,” he said with a tap on her shoulder. She turned around, still with a smile on her lips. The angry fire in his heart simmered down when she looked at him like that.

“Dance with me? Please?”

She blinked, speechless until Emilia nudged her with an elbow. For a second, Oikawa worried she’d decline. Then she took his hand.

The excited whispers behind their backs didn’t escape him when he led her away. “I hope I didn’t disturb anything important,” he mentioned offhand to distract himself from the rapid beating of his heart.

“No,” Y/n assured, words returning to her, “nothing important. Just talking about the flowers.”

As they got on the dance floor, the last song ended. Oikawa caught the singer’s gaze, who sent a conspicuous wink in his direction. Clearly, he took immense joy in being part of the conspiracy.

“And now, let's try something a little slower,” he announced through the mic, “for all the lovebirds.”

On to step four.

While the musicians were spinning the melody, warm tones braiding a gentle soundscape, Oikawa put his hands on Y/n’s waist. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” she breathed, and her hands found their way to his neck, “this is fine.” Once more he was overcome with the brightness of her eyes. Not their colour, but the soul shining through was what struck him as beautiful, time and time again.

They swayed softly to the sound of the singer’s velvet voice enwrapping their ears. All thoughts of elaborate plans and hurtful gossip evaporated. Y/n was warm under his grasp, her existence a solid rock in a sea of uncertainties, a star guiding him home.

“Being with you feels like home,” he vocalised his thoughts. Liquid confidence gave him the courage to do it. She deserved to know.

Her gaze, so terribly, wondrously bright, dropped to his lips. “Is that so?”

And then their faces came closer and closer, until he felt her breath on his cheeks. His hands started to tremble at her waist.

A whisper. “Can I kiss you?”

Y/n was the one to take the plunge. In the blink of an eye, there was no more distance between them. And Oikawa kissed her.

His hands felt too rough against her soft skin as he cupped her face, but she melted, melted, melted under his touch. She was a holy flame swallowing his senses whole. She was a torch. She was the fire lighting up the darkness.

She kissed him back, and he forgot if anything else mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (•ө•)♡
> 
> Notes on weddings in Argentina: I got some information from [this website](https://therealargentina.com/en/how-to-survive-a-wedding-in-argentina/) and [this one](https://www.best-country.com/en/south_america/argentina/wedding), though I can’t vouch for their quality.


	13. March to Misery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. No update last weekend. Life decided to give me a good thrashing BUT I survived, so pls forgive me.

When Oikawa woke up the next day, his head droned as if an entire marching band had taken turns to hit him with their instruments, repeatedly, while playing Mambo No. 5 in an infinite loop.

It took the better part of an hour to roll out of bed and get in the shower. For some reason, the smell of cheap beer clung to him – he couldn’t recall drinking a drop of beer, but neither could he remember getting back home after the wedding.

The last thing he remembered… The kiss. Yes, of course, the kiss. He’d never forget that.

And then… Emilia and Digo and people he’d never met before congratulating Y/n and him for ‘finally getting on with it’. A crowd who swept them along. Drinks and dancing, Y/n’s eyes, her lips.

Oikawa would have to ask her what kind of lip balm she used. If she used any. She had to, right? Or he’d just steal some of it away next time he saw her. Next time-

He groaned and pressed a hand against his aching forehead. The cold water from the shower shocked him awake, but it didn’t recover his missing memory. What the hell had he done? He _knew_ he couldn’t hold his liquor; the Seijoh boys had discovered that years ago.

Fuck, if he’d puked on Y/n, he’d have to flee the country. Did NASA accept applications from volleyball players?

Willing the mental picture of ruining her dress to disappear, he squirted some soap and shampoo on his hands and went to work. The familiar movements calmed his nerves. At the very least, that horrid stench of beer and sweat disappeared.

By the time he’d gotten out of the shower, brushed his teeth and put on fresh underwear, he heard his neighbours quarrel over undercooked eggs and overcooked potatoes, again, which was a reliable indicator for lunch hour.

Some water would do for now.

Oikawa scuffled to the kitchen and downed what he supposed was about half a litre in small sips. As if on cue, his phone, placed on the counter where he certainly never put it, vibrated with a new text message.

 **_From: Y/n-chan_ ** **_♡_ **

_[14:01] Did you survive? I’ll be at your place in 5_

He was still staring at the screen when an insistent knock assured him that indeed, his friend or crush or – whatever the proper name for Y/n might be now – was at his door.

Oh. Oh no. No, no, no, no, no.

“Tooru? Are you there?” Another knock.

No. Not in his current state. Not when he hadn’t yet sorted his thoughts and feelings on last night out, not when his head was still in marching band mode, not when he was only wearing his decidedly non-sexy alien boxers. He _could_ _not_ –

Y/n took the decision out of his hands. “Didn’t close up yesterday, did I?” he heard her mumble as the door swung open. Raised voice, she repeated, “Tooru, are you awake? I brought some food.”

A deer in the headlights, Oikawa watched her talk over her shoulder towards his bedroom while she entered the kitchen. “I thought you might need something-“ He stifled a cough, but too late. Her head whipped around. The end of her sentence dropped like a stone into deep water. “Something… heartier.”

For a few seconds, neither of them moved.

Oikawa fished for the right words. They slipped from his grasp, sleek rhetoric buried deep under this hangover. “Um… hi. Good morning.” He scratched his neck to hide his embarrassment.

“Morning?” Y/n blinked. “It’s two o’clock in the afternoon.” Her gaze wandered from his eyes to his neck, dipped lower, hastily returned to his eyes.

Please, _no_. “They’re from my mum – the boxers,“ he stuttered, “I mean the boxers – I don’t usually wear-“

Y/n put her hands up in a calming gesture, though she, too, looked more panicked than relaxed. “They’re cute. Don’t worry. And they look comfy, too.”

Another moment ticked past in which they just gaped at each other.

The situation was so absurd, so fucking stupid Iwaizumi would have a field day if he ever heard about it, Oikawa couldn’t take it any longer. A fit of laughter overcame him. “Yeah, they are,” he snorted, “they are comfy.”

As if somehow that’d shattered the rigid atmosphere, giggles filled the kitchen. Y/n’s shoulders relaxed. Insisting he had to eat something, she told him to dress properly while she reheated the _revuelto Gramajo_ she’d brought.

Only when he pulled a shirt over his protesting head did the thought occur to him that maybe she’d come because she was lonely, after all Emilia had moved out from their shared flat. Or was she here because of the kiss? To clear up whatever was between them?

When they sat down to eat, Oikawa clearing the table from clutter, he stole what he thought were inconspicuous glances. It was unfair. Why did she manage to look fresh like a rose bud when he felt like shit? Why did he want to kiss her again despite everything?

Fuck, how he wanted to kiss her again.

She caught him red-handed. “What is it?”

“I was just thinking.” He gulped. “Did we – um… I can’t really remember much of what happened after midnight.”

Now it was her turn to falter. “Oh,” she said, “is that so?”

Oikawa waited for her to go on. When she didn’t, he threw caution to the wind. “Did I puke on you?”

A wary smile surfaced on her lips. “No, you didn’t. We – we partied pretty hard until sunrise and then some. My uncle Mateo helped to get you home safely.”

At least the worst-case scenario hadn’t happened. Still, he had the feeling she was hiding something.

“You told us about the thing with Zoe, you called her Blondie,” she continued reluctantly when he made it clear he was waiting for more. Her smile turned sour. “Thanks for trying to support me against her. We never got along, even as children we’d fight all the time.”

“She’s a bitch.”

A police siren went off outside. Y/n didn’t react to his comment.

For fuck’s sake, Oikawa couldn’t bear this silence. This distance between them. “Please,” he sighed, unable to hide the annoyance in his voice, “stop overthinking what to say. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

She stabbed at the food without taking a bite. “Wrong?” she repeated, and for the first time, he could hear the hint of anger in her voice, too. “Oh, nothing’s wrong. Yesterday – or rather today, whatever –, you kissed me like I’ve never been kissed before, and then you proceeded to get sozzled, and then I had to half-carry you to bed where you tried to drag me in with you while simultaneously saying you only kissed me because my cousin gossiped, so I have no idea if it was all a game or – and now you have the audacity to laugh when I try to explain _what’s wrong_!”

“So you think I’m a good kisser?”

Y/n shot him a look. “That’s what you take from this?”

Maybe that hadn’t been the wisest thing to say. If only his head would stop aching like hell, and if only his limbs wouldn’t be this heavy, and if only he were someone else. Someone who could make things work.

“What am I even doing here?” Y/n mumbled to herself and put her fork down. “This was a mistake.”

She was halfway out of the door when Oikawa’s brain realised he’d fucked up. He scrambled out of his seat, knocked over the water bottle, stumbled over a non-existent bump in the carpet. “Wait!”

By the time he reached the front door, Y/n had started the engine of the big Jeep he recognised from their hiking trip. He wasn’t fast enough to stop her.

Maybe he was cursed to fuck up whenever life gave him an opportunity for happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Oikawa is as stupid as every other man ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> This was one of these chapters where I had stuff planned out, but when it came to putting it in words…*sighs * By now, there’s eight pages that didn’t make it into the fic.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for your patience and special thanks to the ppl who commented over the last two weeks. You guys brightened every cloudy day ♡


	14. Fight

If there was one thing that Oikawa considered an absolute truth, it was the fact that the grocery store’s manager hated his guts. However, his approaching white van didn’t run him over when it came down the street only seconds after Y/n speeded away. It stopped.

“What did you do?” Mad Manager snapped.

Oikawa forked his fingers through his hair, pressed his eyes shut. “I didn’t – I said the wrong thing. Shit, I’m such an idiot.”

He couldn’t let her go. He couldn’t let her believe it had been a game for him. She needed to know-

“Hop in, dumbass.”

Oikawa disentangled his fingers from his hair and stared at the manager. Impatience stared back.

He got in the car. He had no idea what was going on, but when a grumpy middle-aged man who coincidentally is your dream girl’s uncle decides to give you a speck of hope, you don’t hesitate.

“Couldn’t you at least wear something sensible?” the older man grumbled, unbothered by the fact that he himself wore a button-down stained with what might’ve been coffee. Then he hit the gas pedal.

The smells of cigarettes and air freshener clashed in the van. His seat was covered in what Oikawa assumed was dog hair, making him picture the manager with a huge German Shepherd. He couldn’t imagine him going on a walk.

“What” – he reconsidered – “Where are you taking me?”

The manager didn’t look at him when he spoke with his heavy country accent, “I want Y/n to be happy. I don’t know how you messed up now, but I know that she’s been happier since you came here. Fix whatever you broke.”

Apparently, there was no doubt on the issue where she was going. “She took you there once, didn’t she? It’s where she’s always headed in times of trouble.”

The mountains.

Back when Oikawa had needed a break from the struggles of life, she’d taken him to her personal place of comfort. She’d let him in. She’d trusted him.

As they followed the dusty road out of the city, Oikawa’s fingers tapped a staccato rhythm on his thigh. Despite the stubborn rumbling of the engine, several other cars overtook them. The Jeep had to be far ahead. Maybe Y/n was already on one of the trails.

He doubted he’d find her there if she didn’t want to be found.

The whole situation felt off, unreal, like a bad dream. His head ached and his heart ached, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to scream or hide under a blanket.

He only knew he wanted to apologise. To tell the truth, just once in his miserable life.

When the ranger station finally came into sight, Oikawa almost jumped out of the van before the brake had been touched in the slightest. The manager’s voice held him back.

“I watched the two of you yesterday and I watched you over the last year, so when I saw her leaving like she did today, I knew something was wrong.” His bushy brows humped together in a scowl. “Hurt her and you’re dead.”

Oikawa gulped. “Thank you for taking me all the way out here.” Who would’ve thought he’d ever rely on Mad Manager to get around?

“Call me Mateo,” the other man said. “Now shove off!”

He did as he was told. The Jeep was parked a few metres away, next to a brand-new sign showing several colour-coded trails to explore the area. Following his gut instinct, Oikawa chose the blue one, the one Y/n and he had taken back in the day.

He ran. Up and up and up, following the winding way around boulders and trees as the sun blazed over his head. “Y/n!” he called when he saw figures in the distance. Instead of starlight, distrust and apprehension greeted him.

“Have you seen a girl here? Around my age? She came in a Jeep and-“

They hadn’t.

Oikawa tried to calm his nerves. Think. Where could she have gone?

His phone! Maybe he could call her, tell her to wait, tell her to _please, listen_. He reached for his pocket – empty. Of course, he was still wearing sweatpants, the phone abandoned at his kitchen counter. Damn it.

He continued up the trail and picked up pace. “Y/n! Y/n, where are you?”

Worry bent his shoulders by the time he reached a familiar junction. Could it be…?

The waterfall was as beautiful as he remembered it. Mossy rocks, the shade of a lone tree, clear, blue water. Oikawa, however, only had eyes for the girl who crouched at its edge.

Suddenly he didn’t find the courage to speak up. It must have been the sound of his footsteps that prompted her to stand up and face him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked with a kind of calmness in her voice that hadn’t been there during their last conversation. Her emotions were hidden behind a mask of indifference. “Shouldn’t you cure your hangover?”

Oikawa opened his mouth, closed it again. He became overly aware of the dust and dog hair on his sweatpants, of his tousled hair. Of the beauty in Y/n’s bare existence. “I… I think I’m in love with you.”

She took a step back, conflicting emotions battling on her face. “Are you joking?”

His heart fluttered uneasily. Did she not know? Could she not tell by the way his hands trembled and his breath hitched? “Do you distrust me that much?”

“Do I have reason to trust you?” Her words were knives in his chest. “All you know is how to play. Volleyball, relationships, life – it’s all a big game for you. You can’t handle things any other way. You hide behind your pride and your smiles.”

“I never meant to hurt you.”

“You did anyway.”

They stared at each other, the water whispering stories of the deep under the mountains, a bird singing in blessed ignorance of heartbreak. Oikawa forced his panic away.

“The stupid gossip wasn’t the reason why I kissed you,” he said, “It was only the last nudge to make me realise-“ He could tell by her facial expression that she wasn’t buying any of this. “What do you want me to do?”

Please, don’t tell me to leave. Please, don’t hate me.

“You were the one who told me you need to be brave to get what you want.” She jutted her chin. “I want you to follow your own advice. Just what is it that _you_ want? Because I’m not here to play games. I need clarity. I’m sick of this weird dance of ours, where neither tells the other the truth about their feelings.”

Oikawa gained time to think by pretending to take in the waterfall and the way it moistened the ground around it. Tiny splatters on dry earth.

“I don’t want to be like my father. I don’t want to leave people when they need me to be there for them,” he started, heart galloping. The memory of his mother, sobbing, prodded at him with guilt. “I want to be happy. I want to stop feeling like I’m never enough. And maybe, maybe most of all” – a deep breath – “maybe I want to make you smile and see your eyes light up when you hear the opening of your favourite anime and – and kiss you again.”

Her face told him she wanted to believe but couldn’t. “Did you rehearse that?”

He shook his head. He’d stripped his soul bare. Why wouldn’t she see it?

“How did you get here anyway?” Oikawa should’ve expected her to change the subject. She always did when she got uncomfortable.

“The ma-“ – he reconsidered – “Mateo. You have an interesting family.” Not to say he didn’t appreciate the ride.

Finally, a weak grin. “A chaotic lot, aren’t we?”

“You all seem very comfortable with each other.” He chuckled. “At least they don’t seem to mind me.”

“Oh, by now, you’re probably considered part of the crew,” Y/n said and shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal. “Welcome to the club.” Some reserve persisted in her demeanour, though she tried to paper over the cracks.

Strategy be damned. He couldn’t do this anymore. He wanted. He wanted and wanted. He had to try.

His first step forward was heavy with reluctance. “I know you’re not like me. I know you don’t like to plunge into the unknown.” Hoping she didn’t take this the wrong way, he continued, watching her expression as he got closer. “It’s fine, really. Maybe I need some realism from time to time.”

She listened, enough silent encouragement to give him hope. He realised they’d both learned to dance with the other’s faults, dodging conflict and sensitivity instead of addressing them. Maybe it was time to face the issues. To work on them.

“My life centres around volleyball, it’s been that way for years. I know I’m… I’m proud and insecure at the same time, and it’s an ugly combination. But I think we can make this work, seriously,” he breathed, “if you’re willing to give it a try. We’ll both have to be brave, but we can do it.”

There it was. The moment he’d wished for, that sent shivers down his spine.

His starlight, his sun. The softness was leaking back into her eyes.

Oikawa was about to add more about how she’d changed his view of life, how she’d made him see such beauty in the small things, how she’d taught him more than to improve his Spanish, but she stopped him by closing the distance between them.

“God, you’re cheesy.”

This wasn’t the same as last time. There was no alcohol-induced haze, no music, no watching strangers, no hurry. Oikawa’s eyes fluttered shut as she reached up to touch his cheek. Her lips brushed against his. Experimentally, once. Twice.

“I think I like cheesy.”

She hesitated for a moment, giving his mouth the chance to trace the lines of her face, showering her in careful little kisses. She guided him back to her lips, soft skin making him shiver despite the heat. He lost himself in her presence, to her.

When they parted, Oikawa couldn’t resist to tease her, just a little, if only to distract from the blush on his cheeks. “Look who’s getting brave all of a sudden.”

She silenced him in the most enjoyable way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I strongly encourage the belief that at least half of Y/n’s family is in on a conspiracy to get them together bc everyone’s _done_ with the pining looks


	15. Epilogue: So Much Left

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music rec: [King by Lauren Aquilina](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dS5GfL9F7L4), imo the only valid theme song for Oikawa Tooru

At the age of 27, Oikawa Tooru faced the ghosts of his past.

In fact, some of them were more than ghosts. They were very real, very solid, and very human.

Ushijima Wakatoshi had muscles of steel and a face of stone when he met his eye again after so many years. Kageyama Tobio stood on the opposite side of the net, the same confident stance that he’d had even as a middle schooler. By his side – of course, how could it ever be different? –, Hinata Shoyo waved at Oikawa, with the same bright grin on his lips and passion in his eyes that had made him so captivating even as a child.

It took five sets. 98 minutes and 32 seconds. Thousands of hours of practice. Years of hard work. An endless stream of tears and hurt.

But in the end, he did it.

At the age of 27, Oikawa Tooru played in the Olympics for the first time, and won a gold medal.

Later on, he could barely recount how it all happened. He was sure that he’d concentrated on the court, the cheers from the crowd a distant whisper. At the back of his mind, he knew Y/n was in the stands, she and his mother, grey-haired and stiff, and Takeru, all grown-up. He was aware of Iwaizumi’s presence, too, of his place as an opponent. Most of all, however, the two battling teams had occupied his thoughts.

Until it was done, from one second to the next.

One of Oikawa’s serves had heralded the beginning of the end for the Japanese, the curly haired, pokerfaced player squeezing in a receive, a quick set from Kageyama and Hinata stopped by Oikawa’s teammates. Then his hands had touched the ball again and the blink of an eye later, Argentina had scored. Won. And Oikawa had drowned in a bone-crushing group hug.

To be honest, he only realised the full extent of what had happened when he opened his eyes the next morning, sunlight streaming into the hotel room he and Y/n shared here in Tokyo. Her body lay warm next to his, still in deep slumber while he contemplated yesterday’s events.

The medal on his bedside table was the only thing that convinced him it hadn’t been a dream. He ran a finger over the engraving, the gold surprisingly heavy in his hands.

When Y/n woke, she snuggled closer and rubbed her nose against his. Such a sleepyhead... He put the medal aside.

They lay in comfortable silence for a while, only the sounds of people passing by their door with suitcases and loud voices disturbing the peace. Out of the blue he asked, “Do you think it’ll look ridiculous if I wear the medal on our flight back?”

“Nope,” she said, and he felt her head shift slightly on his shoulder. “Go for it, champion.”

He smiled, a silly, broad smile, honest and loving. Pride glowed in his chest as he pulled her closer.

He who’d been haunted by the notion that he’d never be enough had succeeded. He’d found love, in so many different forms. He’d found a home. He’d found family in places his teenage self wouldn’t even have recognised on a map. Above all, he’d found the feeling of belonging.

He didn’t need to fight for acceptance anymore. Not from others, not from himself.

“Actually, do you remember when our plane’s supposed to land?” Y/n scrunched her nose. “I suspect Emilia, Digo and the kids plan something. She’s asked a few strange questions. Although it’s all top secret, of course.”

Oikawa chuckled at the memory of Emilia’s last project of the sort. They’d spent the subsequent days cleaning up the mess. “Maybe we should give them a wrong time and pretend there was a mix-up.”

Y/n adjusted the duvet so that it covered both of them. “Anyway, it’ll have to wait.” She yawned. “I don’t want to get out of bed just yet.”

Oikawa remembered a time when she’d been the one to laugh when he was useless for days after a particularly lively victory celebration. They’d both gotten older though, and with that came inevitable change.

After eight years of living in Argentina, years spent with Y/n, there was still so much to learn. He doubted that there would ever come a time when there wasn’t anything new to learn. Else things would get boring, and they couldn’t have that, could they?

He voiced his thoughts, aimlessly, but Y/n must’ve found some sense in them because a soft look appeared on her face. “If so, can I choose the next Japanese lesson?”

A nod and her smile lit up like the sun.

“Teach me how to say _I love you_ in Japanese.”

“Again?” He considered how to explain the concept, willing the sudden giddiness in his entire body to stop, to let him think. How easily his wife still managed to throw him off his guard. How he loved her for that.

“There’s _daisuki_ ,” he started, “not only for people, but also for things, for animals, for hobbies…” The raised eyebrow she gave him was enough of an indicator that that wasn’t what she’d meant. He continued, “For a crush, it’s possible to use _suki yanen_ or the more serious _suki da_.”

“And for us?”

“For you,” Oikawa said and took her hand in his, brushing his thumb over her knuckles, concentrating on the feeling of her. By now, her presence was as familiar as his own heartbeat. “For you, the Japanese invented _ai shiteru_.”

Such heavy words. His parents had never exchanged them, even before things got ugly. Such wonderful words. He wanted her to know the truth. Because she was afternoon naps when the heat outside grew insufferable, she was shared dinners after long days of work, she was the calm to his everlasting storm.

“Ai shiteru,” Y/n repeated. Her eyes drew him in, his smile so clearly reflected in them. Then again, “ai shiteru,” and as the words dropped from her mouth, sweet like cherries, he swore to imprint the sound on his soul.

Maybe there were others out there who had it better than Oikawa, others more knowledgeable, more creative or more talented. Yet he’d built a new life from scratch. He’d done whatever it took to achieve his goals.

And he found he didn’t have to do everything on his own. Always, _always_ someone stood by his side. Teammates. Friends. Family. Life might be one big adventure, a gigantic game with pitfalls and surprise cards and darkness and light, so complex nobody ever unravelled all its secrets, but thankfully, nobody had to do everything at once.

One step after the other. One day after the other.

Oikawa and Y/n stayed in bed that morning, sharing warmth under the covers, comfort found in company. His mind was at ease. It had been for a while now.

Oikawa Tooru was not a genius, but by the age of 27, he found he didn’t care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[This](https://blog.prepscholar.com/i-love-you-in-japanese) is the reference for the ily]
> 
> Watch out, sentimentality ahead! If you’re allergic to feelings, pls skip this part.
> 
> Now that it’s finished, I can finally admit how much of a challenge writing this fic was. For one, I’m a student and I also worked part-time. What’s more, basically, I’ve been meddling with three different cultures and languages of which none is my native.
> 
> And it was a whole lot of fun. Thanks to you, to every single one who took the time to read, to leave kudos, and to comment. Your support means the world to me.
> 
> I wrote this story for the lonely and for the homesick, for the seekers who never seem to find, for everyone who ever felt like they didn’t belong. For the non-native speakers and the lifelong learners and the doubters and the dreamers. For everybody who despairs of their own ordinariness. 
> 
> This is for you.


End file.
